Fanfics by Brooke

The Alley

2011-08-14T11:18:00.004-04:00

Receiving the news that he would require braces was the worst thing to have ever happened to him. Even now, two years after he first got them, they still bothered him to no end and he still couldn't keep his mouth closed for more than a few seconds at a time. The latter was no real hindrance, of course, because the day he would keep his mouth shut for a whole minute (yes, even when he was by himself) would be the day Hell froze over. It was as if he needed to make some sort of noise or else he would implode.

Then there were the glasses. Thick-rimmed and black, they were constantly falling down the bridge of his nose. He would scrunch up his nose to slide them back sans hands. This action was ineffective, of course, and thus he had to repeat it every five seconds.

At least they helped him to see. He could have dealt with his crooked and gapped teeth just fine the way they had been (which made worse his annoyance at being forced to wear the braces), but his eyesight was far too awful. Even his current glasses didn't make everything crystal clear. He had a bad habit of squinting.

His backpack, heavy with loaded textbooks, was weighing him down, the straps cutting into his shoulders. He slid his hands over his shoulders and gripped the straps to relieve some of the pressure. He could see his house now, just down the road from where his feet were meeting the pavement.

For a few brief moments his eyelids closed with the intention of reopening immediately thereafter, but a very large amount of things changed in that very small amount of time: He could no longer see the house, as his eyelids provided him with only a view of a reddish-orange glow; there were several bodies gathered around him; someone else's hands held the straps of his backpack; and he was now being shoved into the side of the nearest building. As his eyelids lifted, his view was changed from reddish-orange to a dull green, the eye color of the boy who was pinning him to the wall.

He could sense the other bodies moving, but he focused only on the other boy's dull green eyes. There was something about them that seemed off, some sort of emotion in them that maybe shouldn't have been there. He tried to figure out the exact problem with this boy's eyes, but he was mentally jerked by the feeling of hands in an all-too-personal lower region of his body. His eyes widened, and the boy with the green eyes laughed and looked at his companion.

“Having fun feeling him up?” he asked in a hoarse voice, the kind that could only mean this boy was a frequent smoker. His breath confirmed so. He was met with an equally gruff, albeit ashamed, voice.

“I thought maybe he'd have his wallet in his pocket.”

The green-eyed boy looked up again, hands still tightly wrapped around the backpack straps. “Where's your money?” He couldn't answer the green-eyed boy, because he was too busy being frightened and his elbows were badly shaking. This did not bode well, and the green-eyed boy, with increasing anger, pushed him even further into the building. “I said where is your goddamn money?”

“I-I-I don't h-have any on m-me-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” For a few seconds the green-eyed boy stared at him blankly, and he was afraid that this boy would continue to slam him into the brick until he was the brick, but the boy's green eyes rolled up quickly and he was pleasantly surprised to find himself being harshly thrown to the ground.

He gathered his body from the pavement and sat back so that he could see his attackers. The green-eyed boy was in the middle, clearly the leader of the three, and was wearing a thick jacket that was far too big and consequently sagged down past his knees. The boy on the right, whose clothing was similar and whose ginger head was ducked in humiliation, seemed to be the one who had touched him. The third boy was glaring at him with the same vicious look the green-eyed boy was producing, but was wearing a much more form-fitting sweatshirt.

“Listen here, you little dweeb,” the green-eyed boy spat, “none of us wanna see you around here again, you got it?”

“B-B-But my house–” he tried to protest, weakly indicating with his hand a point not far behind him.

“You got it?” the boy repeated, with such intensity that he had no choice but to nod his head. What he was going to do about getting home from now on – well, that would have to be pondered later. He watched the boys as they sneered at him once more and left. He was only now aware that his heart was beating at an unsteady pace, and he figured it must have done so for quite a while. Somehow he hadn't noticed it.

He made the rest of the journey home unharmed by any other thuggish boys. His mother appeared as soon as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, hovering over him and bombarding him with the typical questions he should have expected.

“Chris! You're home! How was your first day at school? Did you find everything all right? Do you like your teachers? Are your classes difficult? Do you have much homework? Chris, how was your day?”

There were just so many questions thrown at him at once that he felt a little dizzy (or maybe it was a repercussion of being tossed to the ground). He took a second to clear his head before he even attempted to answer her.

With a dry throat and slightly unfocused eyes, he said, “Well, I met some boys outside...”

For a second his mother seemed dissatisfied; then she perked up and grinned at him, leaping forward to embrace him in what actually felt, in his opinion, like an attempt to smother him. Smother him with love, maybe.

“Aw, that's great, Chris! I'm so proud of you, making new friends already,” she said to him as if he were three years old.

“Actually–”

“STEPHEN!” she hollered over her shoulder, slowly letting go of Chris. “STEPHEN, CHRIS HAS MADE SOME FRIENDS!”

Moments later Chris's father was in the room, and like his son he too needed to shove his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose, which he did using the back of his hand. After quietly observing, he walked over to where they stood and placed a firm hand on Chris's shoulder.

“I'm proud of you, son.” Then he took his hand back and fixed his glasses. Chris gaped at them both, which didn't look much like gaping because his mouth was always open anyway. He tried to tell them what actually had occurred, but the words were not leaving him. Before long, his parents had grown tired of the silence.

“Well, Stephen, I think we should let Chris get to his homework. Don't want to start your second day on a bad foot, huh?”

“No,” Chris replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders, “if I start on a bad foot I might trip and break my glasses.” He stared at both of his parents with a serious expression, before cracking a smile. His mother chuckled, and his father broke out into a laughter packed with snorts. Chris stood still, basking in the success of his joke, as his parents headed for the other room.

“Might break his glasses... ah...” his father softly repeated to himself, with one last lift of the thick-rimmed frames before he disappeared from sight. Chris heaved a sigh and began to climb the mountain of stairs to his bedroom.

He had some definite plotting to do.

Chris opened the door to his bedroom and cautiously walked in, setting his hefty backpack on his tidy mattress. The one window across the room was calling his name, and though the shades were pulled down and had been for the entire week since they moved in, he knew that lifting them would bring a sight not any more pleasant than that of the off-white blinds.

Their house was more of a house than any other building around – though certainly less of a house than any other building he had lived in during his fifteen years of life – as they were nestled in a sort of alleyway, almost, with a large industrial building in front that stretched the length of the block and then some, and more industrial buildings on either side of their quaint little home. Quaint was actually a rather generous adjective, unless used purely in sarcastic tones; little, on the other hand, was accurate. The house had two stories, sure, but there was far less space than Chris was accustomed to. But desperate times call for desperate measures, as his father had said when he and Chris's mother had to explain why they were moving for the umpteenth time since Chris had started his high school career.

Exeter, Bath, Sheffield, Derby, Plymouth, Manchester – it all amounted to the same thing: They would spend no more than six months in one place, then off they went to the next.

He thought he could see the boys still in one of the legitimate alleyways nearby. He squinted, his index finger pressed to the glass, and tutted to himself. “Mum really wanted you to make friends,” he said. Of course he hadn't. When did he ever? It didn't help that he never felt like they even stayed in one place long enough to make friends – but he couldn't tell his parents that. It wasn't their fault that his father's job forced them to pack up and leave so often. The money for his imperfect teeth and near blindness had to come from somewhere.

Chris dropped his hand from the window and pushed up his glasses.

There was another way to reach the house, which was to come in from the opposite side of the large industrial building, and maybe that would satisfy the thuggish boys' request. The only problem was that it would take him roughly five times longer to walk home from school if he took that route. Perhaps that wouldn't be a problem on the way home from school, especially since the weather was still very warm and nice, but there was no way that he could leave early enough to walk to school on time. It seemed impossible.

In the morning he checked the window again. There was no sign of any hoodlums lurking about the area, and so he decided it would at least be safe to take the short path to school. He did hear something moving behind him as he passed the alley where he thought he had seen the boys standing, but when he turned he found nothing.

On the return journey, he was not so lucky. He was luckier than he had been the day before, though, in that he was not shoved into the brick of the nearby building this time. And it seemed to be the green-eyed boy operating solo. Still, Chris was unnerved when he heard that slightly familiar gruff voice:

“I should have known I'd have the pleasure of shoving your face into the pavement again today.”

Chris stood still for several moments (scrunching his nose a total of three times), waiting for the green-eyed boy to hit him, but it became clear after a short time that he was waiting for nothing. He turned.

“You like it rough, huh? Is that why you came 'round here again?” Chris decided that it was probably best if he said nothing at all, and so he did. The green-eyed boy stepped closer to him, and that was when Chris noticed the lit cigarette dangling between his fingers. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but my friend isn't here today, and I don't do that sort of touching free of charge.”

Only vaguely aware of what the green-eyed boy was talking about, Chris upheld his vow of silence. He did, however, blink dumbly several times. His backpack straps were starting to dig into his shoulders again; if only he could get his locker to open, then maybe carrying all his books at once would not be necessary. The green-eyed boy was about to speak again.

“You know what?” he said, then took a drag from the death-stick in his hand. As he exhaled, he made sure to blow the smoke right in Chris's face. Chris involuntarily wheezed. He kept the cigarette in his mouth so that it looked as if it were going to fall out with every word he spoke. “I'll let you off the hook for today, since the others aren't here. But the next time I see you, I won't be so kind.”

Chris stared at this other boy's mouth and wondered how – and possibly why – the cigarette had not fallen out. “But how am I,” he began, unsure of where to go after that, because he had been expecting the green-eyed boy to cut him off without giving him a chance. The green-eyed boy stared at him, waiting. “How will I get home tomorrow?”

“You live around here?” Chris nodded. “You live in that house over there?” the boy asked, pointing. Chris nodded again. The boy took another quick drag and threw the cigarette to the ground. Somehow, Chris felt even more intimidated; perhaps it was that now both of the boy's hands were free and he could therefore use them to hit Chris, or worse. And he had taken another step closer. “I guess you'll just have to go another way.”

“But that's gonna take... too long,” Chris protested, dismally. The green-eyed boy didn't seem to care. He was very close now, and Chris could smell the smoke as if he had sucked it in himself. He was a very intimidating boy. Yet, Chris thought he saw that expression again, the one that shouldn't have been in this boy's eyes. He still couldn't place it, though.

“Well, that's too bad, isn't it? Unless you really do like it rough. Then keep coming by. I'm sure the others will love having something to do every afternoon.”

Chris cringed a little; he felt like he had a lump in his throat and a sudden understanding of something he did not wish to understand. Or maybe he was misinterpreting. “Are – are you... are you threatening to r-r-ra–” He felt a wave of hyperventilation coming, and could therefore not finish his sentence (not to mention that he hadn't the courage to even think it). He was more frightened by the green-eyed boy's seeming apathy, as it almost confirmed his worry.

“I certainly couldn't tell you what my friends might do.”

Chris sighed and his chest buckled as if he were trying to sink into his backpack. He really didn't want to be sexually assaulted, even if a part of him did believe that this boy was just yanking his chain. He could never be too sure.

“All right,” he mumbled, unhappily. The other boy let out a deep laugh as Chris began to trudge along the sort-of alleyway towards his house.

He did not see the green-eyed boy watching the entire time as he walked away, though he could almost feel those green eyes upon his person. He wondered if maybe the mornings would be safe for him, and then he would only need an alternate route for after school.

“Chris, you look unhappy,” his mother cleverly noted when he quite loudly shut the front door behind him and started for the stairs. “Did everything go all right today in school?”

“School was fine,” Chris said with an absentminded shrug. He tried to sound happier. “Basically the same as yesterday.”

“Well, good. I hope tomorrow is just as well, then.”

Chris slowly, awkwardly, nodded. He pushed up his glasses. “I'm gonna do my homework now,” he said, pointing to the stairs. His mother dismissed him with a smile.

Once again, the window had his undivided attention when he finally arrived in his room. Pacing the open floor at his bedside, Chris tried with great desperation to formulate a new plan, one that would allow him to get home within a reasonable amount of time while simultaneously keeping his dignity. He was struggling, to say the least.

Every now and then he would glance out of the window. The green-eyed boy was still hanging around by himself. As far as Chris could tell, he was there for the whole night without his friends. Chris wondered if all those boys really considered themselves friends. It seemed likely, but not truthful.

There was nothing. He could come up with not a single way to solve his problem that was different from his previous solutions. As he lie in bed that night intent on sleeping, he thought about how his parents may have been able to think up something. But he couldn't tell them about the problem. He felt like it would let them down somehow, like he would let them down. He couldn't do that – what kind of parent wants to be disappointed in their only child? And what kind of son would he be if he disappointed them?

If Chris wiggled his toes wildly enough, he could just barely see the blanket moving at the end of the bed. It entertained him, if not only momentarily. Of course, he wasn't even entirely certain that it was the blanket moving, since his glasses were far from his face, resting instead on his nightstand. For all he knew, there could have been some sort of shapeless monster at his feet.

If there was one, it had disappeared overnight. Chris awoke the next morning to a monster-free and well-lit bedroom. However, had it not been for the noise she made when she saw that he was awake, he would never have noticed that his mother was standing in his doorway with a glass of milk in one hand and a plate of toast in the other.

“Good morning, Chris,” she said, and Chris knew right then that she had some sort of ulterior motive. First of all, it was easily distinguishable in her tone. And she never, never, brought his breakfast up to his room. It must have been important. And not just I-don't-want-to-speak-to-you-about-this-with-your-father-around important (as she surely had waited until Stephen had left for work), but so important that she needed to corner him as soon as he was conscious. So, he wasn't exactly cornered. Boxed in. It all ended the same.

“Good morning, mum,” Chris answered with a dry throat.

He subconsciously licked his lips as his hand blindly skimmed over his nightstand. He skipped the glasses, and went first for a small tube of lip balm. His lips always chapped overnight like nobody's business. Really, it never had been anyone's business, and he didn't see that it would be any time soon. He couldn't even make friends.

Before he could even shove the thick-rimmed frames onto his face, his mother was sitting at the edge of the bed, holding his food out for him. He took the toast first, as his throat may have been dry, but he didn't really think that milk would be helpful anyway. He set the cup on the nightstand where his glasses had been.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Better?” he repeated with a mouth full of bread. He looked down at the toast. “I'm not sick or anything.”

“Oh, I know. You just seemed kinda... down in the dumps yesterday.” Chris swallowed the toast and braced himself. He knew it was coming. Only a matter of seconds now. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

It wasn't the first time his mother had asked him that. It wasn't even the fifty-eighth time. He probably couldn't count the number of times those words had come out of his mother's mouth, directed at him. Too many.

And it always meant something else. She didn't care if he wanted to talk about anything or not. She wanted him to tell her. Sometimes it was hard to know what information she was trying to extract from him, though now it seemed clear. Obviously he was not a skilled liar. But he tried anyway.

“Well, I was just thinking,” he began, staring down at his toast in case his eyes accidentally gave him away, “it's an awful long way to walk to school. Do you think maybe you could just drive me everyday? And pick me up from school, too?”

“You know we can't do that. We've only got the one car, and your father needs it for work. He's long gone by the time you even wake up in the morning.”

“Well, all right. But what about after school? He's usually home by then.” It wasn't working. He could sense it.

“Chris, look at me.” Yeah, the jig was up. He reluctantly obeyed. “Why don't you want to walk to school? It only takes ten minutes.”

“I guess I'm just lazy,” he shrugged.

She shot him a sort of motherly look and patted his leg. “You're not a lazy boy, Chris. You're just... unmotivated.”

Chris chuckled lightly. “What's the difference?”

“Get ready for school,” she told him, shortly, then she stood up and walked out of the room.

He had been right in his assumption that the mornings would be safe for him. The thuggish boys were never around so early. Chris was very glad for this, because he did not particularly wish to be late for school every day. As for the afternoons, Chris warded off suspicion from his mother by telling her that he was staying late at school, which accounted for the time his extended journey home consumed.

His backpack only became heavier, his locker still stubbornly refusing to open, as the days passed. To walk from the school, around the lengthy industrial building, and back through the sort-of alleyway to his house took him an hour at the least, and that was when his backpack was light. He was starting to feel like a hunchback.

Even when he did take the alternate route, he still could not escape the presence of the thuggish boys (not to mention he swore he had seen two of them walking through the halls of his school). They never approached him, but they would stand at the opening of the nearby alley and call out to him.

“Hey, dweeb!”

“Aw, dweeb's home? Hi, dweeb!”

“Can I borrow your comic book collection?”

“But not any of the ones with the pages stuck together.”

“Yeah, not those ones.”

Chris could no longer hear their voices as he tried his hardest not to slam the front door, but he was positive they were laughing. It made him angry like nothing ever had before. Some days he would watch them from the comfort of his bedroom window and wish harmful things upon them.

Dweeb. All right, so he wore glasses and braces and laughed obnoxiously and was a bit of a loner – an entire month and a half gone by, still no friends – and maybe he did have a comic book collection, but that didn't give those boys a right to tease him. Part of him wished one day his mother would accidentally open the door before he did and overhear their cruelties, because he certainly wasn't going to tell her about them, but he felt like he was being eaten alive having to keep it bottled up. And he wanted them to stop. More than anything, he wanted them to stop.

There did finally come one afternoon when he just couldn't take it anymore. The final rock had been thrown, and now Chris was storming upstairs, waiting for the moment when he shattered into a million pieces. It was another one of those days when the green-eyed boy was by himself. He hadn't said anything to Chris that was worse than any of the other insults, but Chris was struck with an idea, and there was no way he was going to let the opportunity slip. He raced back down the stairs minutes later.

With shaky breaths, a hand deep in the pocket of his jacket, he walked toward the alley where the green-eyed boy stood. The other boy looked up as Chris drew nearer, flicked his almost nonexistent cigarette to the ground, and transformed his mouth into something of a grin.

“Well, hello,” he began, slyly, and Chris knew what was coming next, “dweeb.” It invoked a sort of anger in Chris that he could feel pumping through the veins in his neck. The muscles of his hand tensed as he stopped in front of the green-eyed boy. “What do you want, then?”

Chris said nothing. He had nothing to say; his actions would surely convey everything clearly enough. He breathed for a few moments, then began to pull his hand out of his pocket. It was a movement slow and deliberate, so that the green-eyed boy had to focus on it. He had to.

The entire time, Chris watched him with a weird sort of pleasure. He watched as the other boy's smile melted, watched as the color drained from his face the moment he saw that shiny, cold metal in Chris's hand. At first he was probably afraid that the barrel was pointed at him, but within seconds that changed as Chris lifted the gun, trembling, to the space just above his right ear.

“What are you doing?” the green-eyed boy asked without breathing, almost trembling as badly as Chris was. Chris inhaled deeply through his nostrils and slowly closed his eyes. “No, no, don't! Please, don't. Please.”

Chris opened his eyes again, but kept his arm raised. “Why not?” he replied in a melancholy tone, his voice thick with sadness.

“Because. You don't – Just don't. Please.” This time, the look in his eyes seemed right. His expression was a mix of anxiety and nausea. Chris kept his eyes locked on the green ones with determination, but he began to lower the gun slowly.

“Will you–”

“Give me that,” the green-eyed boy cut him off when Chris's hand was in a position that easily allowed him to grab the gun with little effort. Chris started to panic.

“NO, I need that back, that's my dad's!” he cried. “If he finds out that I took it, he'll kill me!”

The green-eyed boy looked at him suspiciously, one eyebrow raised. “You were just gonna...” He glanced with disgust at the gun in his hands. “Why would you care if he killed you?”

Chris gulped, trying not to show just how flawed his plan had been. But the green-eyed boy realized it anyway. He turned his attention once more to the gun, which within moments he discovered was completely devoid of ammunition. He thrust it back into Chris's hands with contempt.

“You're a prick,” he ferociously spat. “You can't just walk up and – You're a fucking idiot! Why the fuck would you do something like that?”

Chris was surprised to feel guilt rising in his chest. “I-I just–”

“You just thought you'd come out here and be a total prick? Well, good job.” The green-eyed boy's jaw visibly tensed and he folded his arms across his chest. There was something about his appearance that made Chris pity him. He actually felt bad now.

“I just wanted you to stop. I was only pretending–”

“What would you have done if I had just let you go on?”

Chris took a moment to answer. He hadn't thought about that at all. “I thought maybe it would make you stop,” he said in a low voice. Frowning, he stared down at his feet. He felt like a bit of a failure.

“You are so incredibly stupid.”

For a few moments Chris did nothing but silently stare. His eyes became glassy and his bottom lip quivered. “Will you stop? Will you leave me alone? You and your f-friends.”

“Go home,” the other boy said, coldly. Chris lifted his eyes to him, pushing up his glasses. “And put that back where you got it before your dad finds out what an idiot you are.” Whether or not he thought his time had been well spent, Chris could see no other option but to nod and walk away. “But come back,” the boy added. “We'll talk.”

Chris gazed over his shoulder. He tried to give at least a tiny smile. “Thank you.” Then he moved again, and as he shuffled further away he could hear the green-eyed boy once more remarking on his stupidity. At least he had a reason this time.

Chris was quick to slip inside the house then back out without either of his parents noticing. It helped that he left the front door open as he ran upstairs, and so there was hardly any noise made to give him away. His insides twisted as he quietly walked down the stairs and towards the door. The green-eyed boy had disappeared from sight when he stumbled outside. He knew the boy had to be around, though.

“Perhaps...” Chris began, his eyes setting upon the corner of the building next to the house.

Cautiously, he walked towards the alley where the thuggish boys so often gathered. At first, he thought it was empty – save for what seemed to be a few piles of garbage in the corner – but upon closer inspection he realized that the green-eyed boy was sitting in a shadow with his knees brought up to his chest. He was staring hard at the ground, and stayed completely still until Chris spoke.

“Um,” Chris began, unsure of what else to say. He had never known the green-eyed boy's name, and had no idea what else to call him. But the boy looked up anyway, and without saying anything he gave a quick nod to the space next to him, commanding Chris to sit.

Chris knelt down, then sat cross-legged facing the other boy. For a while they just watched each other. The expression the green-eyed boy was giving no longer looked angry. He was frowning now, and his eyes were tired and sad. Chris felt guilty again, like he was a puppy who had just gotten into trouble for disobeying his owner.

“I'm sorry,” Chris finally said, his voice a bit hoarse. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry from being open for so long.

The green-eyed boy thought about his apology for a while. “It really bothered you that much?”

Chris sighed helplessly and let his shoulders sag down. “It takes me an hour and a half to walk home every day, but you all still harass me anyway. I may as well just let you... you know. Assault me.”

“You couldn't just say that in the first place?”

Chris shook his head and gave a tiny, condescending smile. “Would it have changed anything if I just asked you to stop?”

“Good point,” the green-eyed boy replied, and then he laughed. He actually laughed. His smile was short-lived, though, and moments later his mouth was twisted. He appeared to be thinking once more. “I'll tell my friends to cut it out. But you can never, I mean never, do anything like that again. Got it?”

“They'll really stop?” Chris asked with slight skepticism, though some tiny part of him was hopeful.

“Yes, I will make sure they stop, even if I have to beat them to a pulp first. Just as long as you never do that again.”

“OK. I promise.”

The green-eyed boy's eyes gazed over Chris's face, as if he was trying to determine whether or not Chris was being truthful. Chris stared back innocently and pushed his glasses up. Then he slowly looked around the alley.

“Where are your friends, anyway?” Chris asked.

The green-eyed boy shrugged. “They're not always around. You know, sometimes they have jobs... girlfriends...”

“And you don't have either of those?”

The other boy faltered momentarily, then replied, “No.” He scratched the back of his neck and his face grew a slight reddish tint, which Chris remarked with a bit of wonder. It wasn't exactly out-of-character – rather, it seemed as if the boy was actually revealing part of his true self to Chris. Or maybe Chris was just being misled.

For a few minutes afterward, the boys were silent. Chris persistently scrunched up his nose, as he was too lazy to simply lift his hand every time his glasses slid. The green-eyed boy stretched out his legs and watched Chris. Nearly laughing, he asked, “What's your name?”

“Chris.”

“I'm Jon. Well, everyone calls me Jonny,” the boy said. Chris tilted his head to the side. Somehow, it was a fitting name.

“Would you prefer to be called Jonny?” The green-eyed boy gave a careless shrug. “Well, then, it is nice to meet you, Jonny.”

Chris held his hand out. Jonny eyed him briefly, then hesitantly shook Chris's hand. “It's nice to meet you, too, Chris. Maybe we could be friends. Put the past behind us, that sort of thing.”

“Sure.” A genuine smile spread across Jonny's face, not one that was sarcastic or mocking. Then Chris realized that the look in Jonny's eyes that had seemed out of place must have been some sort of kindness. As he saw this boy smile, he knew there was no way that he could really be such a cruel spirit.

Chris didn't stay around for much longer. It was growing dark and he knew his mother would want him in for dinner. Plus, he had homework to finish. But he found during the afternoon that he and Jonny got along quite well, and he actually felt sad to part from the green-eyed boy. He promised Jonny that he would return the next day, as long as Jonny's friends weren't around.

Jonny laughed. “Should I tell them to bugger off if they are here?”

“Only if you really want to,” Chris said with a shrug. Jonny narrowed his eyes, then shook his head.

“Goodbye, Chris,” he said with amusement.

“Goodbye.”

Chris spun around and began to walk away. He could hear Jonny laughing behind him, but this time it was harmless. In fact, Chris found himself smiling as he went along.

“Oh my God.” Chris stopped dead in his tracks at the end of the alley. He held a hand up to his chest to make sure that his heart was still beating, that he was still in the real world and not some strange sort of afterlife. “I made a friend!”

He laughed – snorted, rather, and merrily continued down the path home.

That night Chris sat at his window, staring unsuspectingly at the alleyway. He could not shake off thoughts of the afternoon's events, and of Jonny's surprisingly kind smile. And those green eyes – he knew he had seen something different in Jonny, something that set him apart from his juvenile friends.

Chris absentmindedly licked his lips, trying to focus his eyes past his reflection in the window. He considered getting up to shut off the overhead light, but he didn't have the willpower to actually do it. Anyway, he was too busy thinking.

Maybe we could be friends.

Chris kept replaying it over and over. The words, the slight upwards curve of the corners of Jonny's mouth as he spoke them. That hopeful feeling rising in his chest.

It was only because he was still in great shock that he had made a friend. He had not realized such a thing was possible. It was, at the very least, improbable.

He thought he saw something flicker by the alley, which was odd. It was fairly late, and he would have expected Jonny to have returned home by this point. But as he never saw another movement from that direction, he reasoned that he must have seen some animal scurry by.

Chris briefly looked down at his lap to find that his math homework was still resting on his legs, unfinished. He glanced at the problem he was in the middle of completing, but found that he had no interest in doing the rest of the work. He closed the book and set it aside. There would always be time to finish it during the following day; though Chris had made a friend, he still did not have anyone to socialize with during any of his classes, and so he had quite a lot of time to himself.

As he gazed out the window once more, he turned his attention to the sky. The moon was full and very bright, and Chris couldn't help thinking of what life would be like if he were a werewolf. Transforming must be painful, and with the coarse hair and gnarly teeth and sharp claws, he imagined it wouldn't be pleasant at all. Especially since he hated the idea of hurting anyone. Although, it would probably be better than being a vampire.

“At least werewolves transform once a month,” he mumbled to himself, “where as vampire is a full-time job.”

As a few seconds passed, Chris realized he was talking to himself and may have unintentionally discovered a reason he always struggled to make friends.

“You've gotta stop doing that,” he said, shaking his head.

Although, if he were a vampire, it might be easier to refrain from harming others. He was certain that once he transformed into a werewolf, any trace of his human mind would temporarily vanish. Who knew what he could end up doing then? And would he be able to forgive his own actions?

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. His head turned alertly and he hollered, “Come in!” The door creaked open ever so slightly, enough for Chris's mother to stick her head through the crack it produced.

“It's almost eleven, Chris,” she said.

“Oh. All right.” Chris pushed his glasses up.

“Did you do your homework?”

“I... did.” He blinked several times in quick succession in a fruitless attempt to be inconspicuous. His mother seemed not to notice.

“Did you finish it?”

Chris thought briefly of his closed math book. He gave a slight shrug. “Well...”

His mother beamed. “Good. Well, uh,” she briefly and awkwardly glanced around his room, “see you in the morning, then. Night, Chris.”

“Goodnight, mum.” Chris stared at the door until his mother left and silence was restored. He stuffed his math book into his bag, then headed for his dresser. His pajamas – a plain white t-shirt and blue plaid flannel pants – were lying in the bottommost drawer, awaiting his arrival. He gently lifted them from the drawer and proceeded to remove the clothes he was already wearing.

Once he changed, he turned off the overhead light and crawled into his bed. The moonlight shining through the window allowed him to see his nightstand. He applied some lip balm in hopes of preventing his lips from chapping overnight, then removed his glasses and settled under the covers.

He fell asleep feeling very satisfied with himself; he had accomplished quite a lot that day.

Jonny almost hated being friends with Chris. Every day that they spent time together, he was reminded of Chris's little stunt, and it hurt him more than he could explain. When Chris was chatting his ear off, he was fine, but once Chris stopped talking and silence fell over he couldn't help remembering that look in Chris's eyes, the cold and hateful look.

At this point, Jonny would glance at Chris and, seeing his truly kind blue irises glaring back, would instantly feel better. But it was a never-ending cycle, and when Chris left every evening, Jonny felt rather drained.

He did like talking to Chris, though. They had great conversations, even if nothing either of them said ever meant anything. Chris was far better than his other so-called friends. They would always leave him as soon as something better came along – or, at least, as soon as some loose girl came along. With Chris, Jonny got the impression that there was no other option for him. Jonny knew it was pathetic, but he liked that Chris had nowhere else to go. It made him feel safe.

It became routine after a while: Jonny waited by the alley until Chris came by, lugging his still overly large backpack. Jonny laughed and let Chris know just how ridiculous he looked. Chris went inside his house and returned a few minutes later.

Sometimes he would tell Jonny about how he just couldn't understand why his locker was so stubborn or why the kids at school liked to throw things in his general direction while he ate lunch, and sometimes he would ask Jonny how his day went instead. On those days, Jonny guessed that Chris wasn't particularly happy with himself. He would make up outlandish stories about how awful his own day was then just to make Chris feel better, though he did so without really thinking about it.

“I was at the store earlier and this old lady came up to me,” Jonny began one day, after Chris dropped his overloaded backpack right by Jonny's feet and didn't bother to even check in with his parents. “And at first I was like, OK, fine, it's just some old lady. But then I was grabbing something off one of the shelves and she started yelling at me, saying I was in her way and that I should learn some manners. Then she hit me with her cane.”

Chris eyed him with a great deal of skepticism. “Really?”

“I've got the mark to prove it.”

“Let me see it, then.”

Jonny drew a sharp breath and thought as quickly as possible. “Can't. It was kinda a... private sort of blow. Oh, that's a good word to use.”

“I'm sure it was,” Chris said in a disbelieving tone, though Jonny did not even have to look to know that Chris was smiling at him. Jonny smiled back.

“You should go tell your parents that you're out here so they don't send a search party for you,” he told Chris, who shrugged slightly and pushed up his thick-rimmed frames. But he obeyed Jonny's suggestion, and heaved his backpack over his shoulder then quickly disappeared.

Jonny walked into the alley while he waited for Chris to come back. He felt strange, which he attributed to the fact that he had not even thought so much about his friends in the past few weeks. And they seemed to have forgotten him as well. Luckily, he had Chris to distract him.

As soon as he sat down, he felt a whoosh of air rush past his head, and he knew instantly that it was the result of Chris plopping himself down on the ground. He was a surprisingly speedy kid.

“Jonny, do you ever talk to yourself?” he asked, before Jonny could even properly register his presence. Jonny waited a few moments before answering.

“No.”

“Oh.” Chris ducked his head, a light flush coloring his cheeks. “Not – not even when no one else is around?”

“Never. But I'm guessing you do.” Chris gave a shrug. “I don't think it makes you weird or anything.” He didn't even know what made him say it, but he was glad he did, because Chris looked up at him and smiled again.

“Well, I think it's a good way to organize your thoughts,” Chris said in a serious manner. “And, also, most of the time I don't even notice that I'm doing it at first. It just sorta comes out and then I realize that I'm alone and speaking to myself.”

“Have you always done that?”

“Not always, no. I don't remember doing it before I was about ten or so. And I don't know why I do it, either. Like I said, it just happens.”

“Sometimes I hum when I'm by myself, and I don't realize that I do it,” Jonny said. Then he couldn't remember if he actually did hum when he was alone, or if it was another lie to make Chris feel better. “Except, I'm an exceptional hummer and so I wouldn't really care if anyone else was around to hear.”

“I'm sure you're the most talented hummer around.” Chris was silent for a few moments, then he scrunched up his nose and started to laugh out of nowhere. Jonny looked at him with confusion for a few seconds before deciding that it just wasn't worth questioning, and he joined in.

When Chris left to eat dinner, he told Jonny that he might not return until the next day, so he wished him a good evening, night, and morning, just in case. Jonny smirked as Chris bowed to him, then ran off.

Jonny felt certain that Chris would not return, as he never did when he claimed that he had homework to do (and Jonny wholeheartedly believed him), so Jonny planned to spend the rest of the evening alone. If he had remembered that he really did hum when he was by himself, he would have done so.

Assuming that Chris would stay indoors, Jonny rummaged behind a few of the discarded bags of garbage and pulled out a thin book. He could not remember exactly where he had left off, so he simply flipped through the pages until it stopped looking familiar.

For half an hour he sat there, completely focused on the book and unaware of anything else around him. He didn't even hear the footsteps approaching as Chris walked towards him. He didn't hear Chris sit down, didn't hear Chris breathing into his ear, didn't feel Chris's stare piercing the side of his face, until Chris suddenly asked, “What are you reading, Jonny?”

Jonny let out a startled cry and slammed the book shut, stuffing it under his legs to hide. Surely, he thought Chris would have made another inquiry, but he remained silent, staring at Jonny expectantly.

“I wasn't reading anything,” Jonny quietly and calmly replied. Chris scrunched his nose up, but Jonny had a feeling it had nothing to do with his glasses.

“Yes, you were, Jonny. I saw you.”

“I wasn't reading,” Jonny insisted.

“But I saw you-”

“Chris, I don't care what you saw, OK? I was not reading anything.” Jonny averted his gaze, his heart pounding against his chest more rapidly than usual. His cheeks grew hot as the blood pumped urgently through his system. The silence should have worried him, but he was too busy being embarrassed to imagine Chris shooting him a nasty look.

“Oh. Sorry.” Jonny safely glanced at Chris and bit his lip.

“I thought you said you had stuff to do,” Jonny said. Chris nodded slowly and absentmindedly, then shrugged. But he didn't say anything, which for some reason made Jonny feel just a little better, and he smiled. “What, you just thought you'd come out here and waste time with me instead?”

“Yes.” Chris pressed a finger to the bridge of his glasses and slid them up his nose. “I'll have to go inside at some point, though. I can't sleep out here or anything.” Chris laughed his obnoxious laugh, and Jonny chuckled at him, though shortly. Then silence fell again, and once more Jonny was too distracted to worry. In fact, it seemed that Chris was worrying more, staring at Jonny with his eyebrows squished together.

After a while, Jonny noticed that Chris was looking at him, and he started to feel a bit anxious. He felt a confusing desire to both tell Chris everything and to simply never speak again. His face was still hot. He knew that Chris would not ask him what was wrong, or if he wanted to talk about anything, and for that he was grateful. But he figured that he would never say anything if Chris didn't ask.

“I'm surprised I wasn't humming when you came back,” Jonny muttered. He wasn't sure what he was doing. He never felt sure around Chris. “But that wouldn't have been...” What? Embarrassing? Jonny wanted to smack himself, so that maybe he would stop talking. Chris had dropped the subject without even knowing what the subject was, why was he trying to bring it up again?

“I would love to hear it.”

Jonny looked up at Chris. If he had said something like that, he could have known what it meant. He knew what he was like around other people, and how different he acted around Chris. But he had no way of knowing whether or not Chris acted this way all the time. He seemed like a genuinely nice kid. Jonny thought it highly unlikely that it was only for him.

“I wasn't...” Jonny hesitantly began, realizing that once he said it, he could not take it back. Once he started, he basically had no choice but to go the whole way.

Chris nodded in an understanding sort of way. “I know, Jonny. You weren't reading.” He paused for a moment, then added in jest, “You were just... staring at the pictures?” He smiled, but Jonny did not return a grin like he normally did.

“I wasn't reading, because...” Jonny inhaled deeply and stared at the ground. No taking it back. “Because... I don't... know how...”

Jonny held his breath as the alley went quiet. Chris appeared to be startled, having expected Jonny to add more to his mutterings. “You don't know how... to read?” he asked. Jonny glanced at him. “Really?”

Jonny felt like sinking into the wall behind him and disappearing forever. He knew he shouldn't have said anything. He could already sense Chris's disapproval. “I never learned,” he said. “Well, my... It's a long story.”

Chris scooted closer to Jonny, bringing his knees up to his chest. “Will you tell me?”

Then, despite his fears, Jonny turned to Chris and, upon seeing the kind look he gave, knew that everything was going to be all right. Anxiety still burned in his stomach, but he was used to that with Chris.

“When I was five – no. No, I was six. Right. I was in first grade, and one day I came home and the house was completely silent. It was really creepy.” Jonny paused momentarily, trying to register Chris's intense stare. “I searched almost the whole place for my parents, but there didn't seem to be any sign of either of them. And then I walked into the kitchen...” He watched as Chris's shirt moved ever so slightly with every breath he took. “And they were both laying on the floor...”

“Oh.”

“They k-killed themselves.” Jonny flicked his eyes back up to Chris's. “I was six. I didn't know... what to do. I just left. Somehow, no one ever found me. I never went to school after that, I never... did much of anything after that.”

“Jonny...” Chris gaped, and unable to come up with anything else to say, he just leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Jonny's shoulders.

Jonny closed his eyes as his cheek rubbed against the skin of Chris's neck. He was no longer thinking of his tragic past now, as Chris probably assumed. He felt incapable of thinking of anything, actually, other than how warm Chris was and how he thought he could feel both of their hearts beating together. Guilt rose in him, but he decided to take advantage of the situation anyway. After all, how often could he expect this much physical contact with Chris?

His owns arms found their way around Chris's waist, tightening without being too tight. He could sense all the awkwardness in Chris's hold, but he loved that Chris tried to comfort him anyway. His fingers curled around the fabric of Chris's shirt. He had no idea what he was doing.

Jonny stopped himself before he went too far. The last thing he wanted was to freak Chris out and mess everything up. He slowly withdrew his hands and pulled back.

“I could teach you, if you want,” Chris said, only an inch or two away from Jonny's face. “To read, I mean.”

Jonny breathed shakily as he looked into Chris's eyes. “I've been trying to teach myself.” With his now otherwise useless hands, he reached under his legs and grabbed the book. It was a book intended for small children, with picture examples of things that began with each letter of the alphabet. “I know what the pictures are, and I try to memorize what the words look like. But... I'm not doing so well.”

He stared down at the book in a slight attempt to hide his embarrassment, which he was sure had to be apparent. Chris followed his gaze.

“I could teach you,” he repeated, covering Jonny's hand with his own. Jonny held his breath as Chris pried his fingers off and seized the book. He brought it closer to his face, and Jonny exhaled. “This is pretty clever, actually.”

“Really?” Jonny chanced a glance at Chris, who was slightly smiling. “There are only so many words to memorize, though.”

“But it's a good start.” Chris flipped through a few of the pages. Jonny watched him in silence. “So, you can read a little then, right? If you were to see these words somewhere else you'd recognize them?”

Jonny shrugged. “I guess.”

“Then I think you're doing very well. Can you say what they are without the pictures?”

“I'm... not sure.” Jonny bit his lip in uncertainty. He figured that Chris was going to test him now, and he feared he would fail miserably and become even more embarrassed than he already felt. What kind of person can't even read a child's book?

But Chris seemed to sense this, as he tilted his head and stared at Jonny through narrowed eyelids. “Jonny, you don't have to look so worried. I'll help you. And...” Chris looked down at the book in his hands, then held it out to Jonny. “We can do this tomorrow. I really should be going home now.”

“Of course. Have fun doing homework or whatever.”

Chris grinned, and Jonny felt the warmth from his smile flow through his own veins. “See you tomorrow, Jonny,” he crooned.

“See you tomorrow, Chris,” Jonny chimed in reply, trying not to appear too pleased. Containing himself became even more difficult when Chris sat for a moment longer, just staring at him. He smiled still and Jonny felt his knees go weak, even though he was sitting down. Then Jonny watched as Chris finally stood up and walked away. He waited until Chris was gone from sight before releasing a hefty amount of air from his lungs and leaning his head back against the wall, his eyes shut tightly.

For a few brief moments he went back in time, the ghost of Chris's arms lingering over his shoulders. Jonny had seen all of this coming long ago; he knew it would have only been a matter of time before he developed what he figured was a ridiculous crush on Chris. It wasn't exactly that he really went for the nerdy type – though all of Chris's endearing quirks did make him smile – but more that Chris was incredibly gorgeous. Even with his thick-rimmed glasses and braces, Jonny could still tell.

But it seemed pointless to him to feel that way. He and Chris were just friends, which he accepted, but at the end of every day he and Chris spent together he could feel his hope rising, and he really wanted it to not do that. He felt certain there were still things about him that Chris didn't know and wouldn't like if he did, and therefore even the truthfulness of their friendship could be questioned.

Of course, Chris certainly didn't help with his random questions; for example, a few weeks later they were in the alley again, Chris trying to teach Jonny to read. The book they were using was different from the one Jonny originally had, as Chris figured it would be best for Jonny to learn from a completely unfamiliar book. They had decided to take a short break, because Jonny was getting tired of reading the same page over and over again and getting stuck in the same place each time.

“Jonny, how come you don't have a girlfriend? Or a job?” Jonny's eyes involuntarily widened.

“What?” was the first thing he could think to reply with.

“Well, you said that your friends have girlfriends and jobs,” Chris said. “How come you don't?”

“I don't think anyone would want to hire me. I can't even read,” Jonny mumbled. Then he glanced sideways and noticed Chris was staring intently at him, as if he hadn't yet received the answer he was looking for. Jonny took a deep breath. “I did have a girlfriend once. When I was twelve.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jonny smiled slightly. “It lasted all of two weeks before I realized it was a complete mistake. I didn't even fancy her, I fancied her friend. But I always saw them together and I just attributed those feelings to her. I don't think she liked me very much either, especially not after I told her I fancied her friend...” Jonny looked up at Chris and cautiously continued, “who was a boy.”

Chris looked completely unfazed. “Oh. I've never really fancied anyone before.” He shook his head and looked up, as if he was thinking, making sure that what he said was correct. Much to his own surprise, Jonny laughed.

“You would,” he said in response to Chris's questioning gaze. “You're totally asexual.”

Chris gave a slight shrug. “Jonny, I think if I was asexual I would have offspring sprouting from my, I don't know, arm all the time.” Jonny laughed again and shook his head, which in turn caused Chris to shape his mouth into his usual goofy grin.

“You know,” Jonny began, then quickly decided against it and sighed. “I think we should get back to this, probably.” He lifted up the book in his lap to inform Chris of what he meant by 'this,' and Chris nodded his approval.

He did eventually get past the sentence that had been a hindrance, and when he did so he found that the rest of that day's reading was relatively simple. He knew there was still quite a bit of work left to do before he was totally literate, but to him that only meant more time spent with Chris.

And Chris was a wonderful teacher, Jonny felt. He was always patient, even when it took Jonny over ten minutes to fully read one sentence, and he would compliment Jonny's work when Jonny felt like he had failed. Jonny's embarrassment dwindled with each lesson, and eventually he started to feel confident in his abilities.

Then one afternoon, after Chris had returned from checking in with his parents, he was startled by a sudden pull on his arm. As he looked up he saw that Chris had taken hold of him and was dragging him down the alley towards his house without even the slightest explanation. But Jonny didn't bother to question him, either.

The only bit of information Chris gave came after they stepped inside and were headed for the stairs. Chris turned quickly towards Jonny, hand still gripping Jonny's arm, and said, “We're going upstairs.”

“OK,” Jonny weakly replied, and then Chris pulled him onward again. Jonny looked over the railing as they ascended the stairs, thinking of how strange it was to be inside someone's house. He hadn't seen the inside of a house since...

Chris stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs, causing Jonny to nearly bump into him. Luckily, Jonny's reflexes were quick enough and he avoided collision just in time (though if he were honest with himself, he wouldn't have minded the contact). Chris reached his arm towards the ceiling and pulled open a hatch.

Chris stepped aside as a ladder came down in front of Jonny. He gestured toward the ladder and said, “Jonnys first.'

Cautiously, Jonny climbed up to what appeared to be a very small attic. He couldn't stand up completely, so he chose to crouch down and quickly make his way to the corner of the room. Chris was next to him almost instantly, reaching into a cardboard box that Jonny hadn't noticed at first, probably because it was pushed into the dark shadows in a discarded sort of way.

“My parents kept all of this stuff in case they ever had another baby,” Chris explained, still searching the box. “After ten years, it's really unnecessary for us to still have this, especially since it's stayed packed for the entire time, but we still have it anyway.”

From the box, Chris withdrew a thin book – Jonny should have guessed – then he crawled back to where Jonny sat. For the longest time, he just stared at Jonny, quite intimidatingly by Jonny's standards, and Jonny stared back for a lack of anything better to do. Then, slowly but steadily, the book rose in between their faces until Chris was no longer visible, apart from the fingers he had wrapped around the book.

Jonny reached over and grabbed the book away from Chris. Chris smiled furtively and scooted closer, an action which Jonny both appreciated and resented. Jonny stared at the cover of the book, trying to work out what the title was. He had a rough idea, but he also had a fear of being wrong, so he waited for Chris to speak up again.

Of course, Chris didn't really say anything helpful. “Think you're ready?” he asked, and Jonny glanced at him.

“Is it difficult?” he said with a hint of worry. Chris pondered his question for a few moments.

“I think you're ready.” Jonny gave a halfhearted smile and went back to deciphering the cover. “It's not a novel or anything, that's for sure, but it's definitely... more challenging than the other ones so far. Real sentences and everything,” Chris said with a bit of a laugh.

After deciding that the only word of the title he could actually read was, 'moon,' Jonny gave up and flipped the cover open. He wondered if Chris would ask him about it. “It's worth a shot, right?”

“Right!” Chris rested his hand on Jonny's shoulder, despite the awkward position it created for him. “This was actually the first book I ever learned to read. My mum used to read it to me when I was really little, and eventually I decided I wanted to be able to read it, too. So, I followed along whenever my mum read it to me and learned it that way–”

“You taught yourself to read?” Jonny interrupted, throwing an incredulous look at Chris. Chris laughed.

“That's what my mum said, too.” Jonny sighed and went back to examining the book. He should have known; Chris was probably smart enough to be considered a genius. Chris shrugged. “I taught myself to read this book.”

“What's it called?” Jonny casually asked, pretending as if he just had skipped over the cover too quickly to see the title in order to hide his embarrassment.

“Goodnight Moon.”

“Ah, Goodnight Moon.” Jonny coughed a little and turned to the first page of the story. With a nod from Chris, he began to read.

Many of the words in the story repeated themselves throughout, which Jonny was glad for. Not only would it probably help him to remember the words in the future, but it would also help in the short term. Chris sat beside him, silent, the entire time. Even when Jonny struggled, he remained quiet and let Jonny work it out himself.

“Goodnight... no.. no...” Jonny muttered a few sounds under his breath, just softly enough that Chris would not be able to make out what he was saying. He took a deep and confident breath. “Goodnight no-noises ev-every... everywhere.”

Chris beamed and turned slightly to face Jonny. “Jonny! You're getting really good at this.”

Jonny turned with the intention of replying, but found that Chris was just far too close and smiling far too widely. His mind shut down and his body took over, discounting every single effort Jonny had put into restraining himself in the past weeks as he leaned forward until his lips met Chris's. As he looked at Chris a few seconds later, his mind restarted and he suddenly became very anxious. Panic coursed through his veins and he began to feel a bit nauseated. What the hell did he just do?

But Chris remained totally calm, or he appeared to be calm at the very least. “Well,” he said, then he licked his lips, “that's certainly a new experience for me.”

“What, you mean you've never had anyone kiss you before?” Jonny nervously asked, more to inform himself of what he had done than anything else, as he knew full well what Chris's answer would be. Or he thought he knew what part of Chris's answer would be, and it came with a shrug of Chris's shoulders.

“No, but can we do that again?”

Jonny exhaled a breath of relief. Of course, another few seconds passed before he realized what Chris had said. Then he wasn't sure he had heard correctly. He stared at Chris with some confusion, then decided that he may as well go for it, regardless of Chris's actual reply.

He leaned in again, this time at a much slower pace, and judging by Chris's lack of retraction, he seemed to be doing something right. Both of their mouths were conveniently already open and slid together with perfect ease. It wasn't until after Jonny felt Chris's braces hit his teeth – which didn't hurt as much as he thought it might have – that he really became conscious of what he was doing. What he and Chris were doing. He smiled a little, and a few seconds later Chris grabbed his right hand.

“You know, for an asexual, you're pretty good at that,” Jonny breathed, his lips still less than an inch away from Chris's.

“Well, maybe I'm not so asexual after all,” Chris replied. He laughed, and even though it was as breathy as Jonny's speech, it still managed to carry with it a slight hint of a snort. Jonny thought it sounded remarkable. He smiled again as Chris scrunched up his nose to lift his glasses. When they slid down almost instantly afterward, Jonny took the liberty to push them back up for Chris.

Then Jonny became occupied with staring into Chris's eyes, those stunningly blue eyes that sometimes were hidden behind the glare off of Chris's glasses. But at this particular moment they were clear in Jonny's view, looking back at him with a soft and kind expression. He wanted to smile just thinking about how close they were now, but he quickly realized that he was already smiling and probably hadn't stopped since the first time.

Chris asked him something, but he was too busy drowning in his own happiness to hear properly. “What?” he replied in a dazed sort of way.

“I said I think I should ask my parents if you can stay for dinner tonight,” Chris quietly repeated, which made Jonny think that maybe he had gotten away with not hearing it the first time because Chris had mumbled then as well. “I don't think they would mind.”

Jonny's raised his eyebrows. “Do they even know I'm here now?”

“Oh, yeah.” Chris bit his lip – innocently, though that didn't stop Jonny from taking notice – and stared at the ground. “Well, I guess they'll know when I ask.” Then Chris moved his eyes again, and Jonny followed his gaze to see that it had been set upon their hands, still combined. Jonny ran his thumb over Chris's and out of the corner of his eye he saw Chris look up at him again. “I'll go ask now.”

Chris took his hand back and prepared to stand. For a few moments he remained still, though, looking at Jonny as though what he really wanted to do was stay in the attic forever, which also happened to be what Jonny wanted to do. But then Chris finally turned and disappeared through the hatch.

Jonny took a deep breath and prepared to be alone for a few moments when Chris reappeared with an urgent look. “You can come with me, you know,” he told Jonny, and he didn't leave until Jonny had cast Goodnight Moon aside and crawled over to the hatch.

Going down the stairs was just as weird an experience for Jonny as going up had been. He noticed this time that several pictures of Chris were hung up on the walls. The photographs seemed to have been taken recently, as Chris looked roughly the same age and still wore braces. In a few of them, Chris was outdoors in a rather nice-looking house, much nicer than the one Jonny was currently walking through, and he couldn't help wondering where the location was and why Chris's family was no longer there.

“Your folks really like you, don't they?” Jonny asked as they stopped at the bottom of the stairs, pointing to the nearest picture of Chris doing what appeared be homework. “If I were them, I wouldn't have such awfully boring pictures hanging about everywhere.”

Chris turned to look at the picture. He scrunched his eyebrows together and narrowed his eyes a bit to create his usual pondering expression. Then he looked at some of the other pictures on the wall. “I put those there,” he decidedly announced. Jonny laughed, whether or not Chris was actually being serious (which was always very difficult to tell with Chris). He must have been joking, though, because he smiled at Jonny before leaving the room to find his parents.

Jonny followed him, but he hadn't quite caught up before he heard Chris speaking to his parents. “Hello, parents. I would like you to meet my friend, Jonny– Oh. I thought he was right behind me.”

Jonny quietly laughed from the other room; he could practically hear Chris pushing up his glasses and squishing his eyebrows together. He wondered if Chris's parents would think Chris was making up his existence if he just stayed where he was. But he decided that might be too cruel, and so he kept going until finally he was standing right where Chris was gesturing to.

“Oh! Jonny, parents,” Chris said, moving his arms to point towards his mother and father. “Parents, Jonny.” He turned back to Jonny and flashed a quick smile, which Jonny involuntarily returned.

Both of Chris's parents responded with “Nice to meet you”s in Jonny's direction, and Jonny suddenly grew uncomfortable, light-headed and nauseated as he realized the room they were standing in was the kitchen. He didn't have time to worry about the vast number of eyes pointed in his direction, he just inhaled a shaky breath and tried to keep his own eyes from staring at the floor. Flashes of memory threatened to overwhelm him, but he just kept breathing and did his best to fight them off.

He hadn't thought he would be so affected by the measly sight of a kitchen, but apparently he had thought wrong.

Chris noticed Jonny's behavior and was staring at him with a great deal of concern. Then his expression changed as he seemed to understand what was wrong. He quickly turned to his parents and blurted, “Can Jonny stay for dinner, mum? We can wait upstairs until it's ready.”

“Well, your father and I were just talking about going out for dinner. But... Jonny is welcome to come with us, if he likes.”

“Oh, he likes,” Chris immediately replied. Then he spun around and grabbed Jonny by the wrist, dragging him out of the kitchen. “Come on, Jonny, we can go wait outside.”

“We'll be out in a few minutes,” Chris's father called after them as Chris pulled Jonny through what appeared to be the living room, then the front door. As the outside air hit Jonny, he finally began to calm down. He and Chris continued walking, past the alley way and towards the nearby road, until finally they reached an old-looking, dark blue, four-door car. Jonny guessed that it must have been at least Chris's age, if not older. Yet, it appeared to be in decent shape. The two boys stopped in front of one of the back doors, and Chris placed his hands on Jonny's shoulders.

“Are you OK?” he cautiously asked, his eyes rapidly moving around to examine every inch of Jonny's face. Jonny gathered his strength and nodded. “I'm really sorry about that, Jonny, I didn't think–”

“Neither did I,” Jonny tried to say in a reassuring and even forgiving voice, but it came out hoarse instead. He coughed and attempted the correct tone again. “It's not your fault or anything. I haven't even been in... since – but, listen, I didn't even know. So...”

Chris nodded to show he understood Jonny's broken speech, but he must not have felt that the gesture was good enough by itself. Jonny found himself being pulled into Chris's arms a few moments later, which for some reason made him laugh. It was a soft, nervous laugh, but Jonny nevertheless thought it seemed a bit out of place.

“I think the worst part about it was just that I got that feeling again,” Jonny began, though he wasn't sure why. He didn't really want to talk about it, but he couldn't stop himself. “That feeling... when it first happened... You know, like... I never knew why they did... So, I always just assumed that it was because of me.” He laughed again, more apprehension leaking through, as if trying to convince himself that it was ridiculous to feel that way. Chris pulled back sharply, the look on his face more serious than Jonny had ever seen before, to the point of being frightening.

His voice was equally imposing, Jonny discovered, as his hands clamped down on Jonny's shoulders and he said, “Jonny, why would anyone kill themselves because of you?”

A darkness – not intended to appear angry, but undoubtedly did so – fell over Jonny's face. In silence Jonny watched Chris's expression soften greatly as something in his mind clicked, and for the second time that afternoon he understood Jonny without needing words. The look that washed over him resembled regret, and he retracted his arms and sighed at the ground.

“I – If I had known–”

“No,” Jonny interrupted forcefully, having realized that Chris was attempting to blame himself for something that wasn't exactly his fault. “Don't do that. Don't apologize. Just... it's over, OK? Everything's fine.”

Chris carefully looked up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

At that moment, Chris's parents joined them, oblivious to any bit of the boys' conversation. Chris just gave Jonny a look meant to substitute a hug, then he held open the car door for him. Once Jonny was in the car, Chris walked around to the other side and slid in himself. By that time both of Chris's parents had also managed to get into the car, and the click of Chris's seat belt coincided with the revving of the car's engine.

Jonny and Chris didn't speak much during the car ride; Chris's father had the radio up so loud – tuned into what seemed to be the oldest oldies station around – that Jonny could barely even hear his own heartbeat. But he was content with this, as he now had time to just stare out of the window and think.

Cars were another thing that Jonny was not used to anymore. He did feel a tiny bit of motion sickness along the way, but he tried to swallow it down and focus on more important things. Like the fact that since he had some time to spend inside his own head, he remembered that to a certain extent he could now say he knew what Chris tasted like, what Chris felt like, and be entirely truthful.

And Chris could say the same thing about him.

Jonny felt a shiver run down his back. The memory seemed too fantastic to be real. It couldn't be real. There was no way it could be real. Especially since Chris was still there, sitting next to him, still wanting to have anything to do with him. He hardly ever got that reaction from other boys. He had half-expected Chris to have run away, screaming. But, miraculously, he didn't, and Jonny had to work his brains very hard to convince himself it wasn't all one enormous dream.

He glanced over at Chris, who was also staring out of the car window. He was trying to sing along with the song that was blaring from the speakers, and he sang with surprising volume. Jonny could actually hear his voice quite clearly. Chris didn't exactly have the most beautiful voice in the world, but Jonny found there was still something quite lovely about it. He was so entranced by Chris's singing that he stared until finally he became aware that the car had stopped moving, the music had been turned off, and Chris looked at him with flushed cheeks.

“You can get out of the car now, Jonny,” he quietly said. “Or it might be hard to eat through the building. Not – not eat through the building like eating the building, I mean, eating through it like... eating – Well, the food will be inside and you'll still be out here in the car and...” Chris stared down at his hands, his face growing even redder. “Usually my jokes work better than that.”

“I know, I've heard them before.” Chris smiled and pushed up his glasses. There was a tap on the window behind him.

“Are you boys coming or what?” Chris's father asked, his voice muffled through the glass. Chris nodded.

“Come on, Jonny, I'll race you!”

As soon as Jonny got out of the car, Chris grabbed his arm and, running, pulled him towards the building. “You know, I don't think it's a race if you're dragging me along,” Jonny breathily shouted at Chris, who merely laughed in response. They both entered the restaurant far earlier than Chris's parents did, so they waited for a while by the door.

Jonny's heart was racing, but not because they had run inside. Chris never technically let go of Jonny's arm, he merely slid his hand down until both of their hands were touching. They weren't exactly holding hands, but Jonny's hormones couldn't tell the difference.

A waitress with light brown hair that had been pulled back into a ponytail showed them to their table, after an embarrassing incident in which Chris's father miscounted the number of people in their party several times. They were seated at a booth in the far corner of the restaurant, next to a family which appeared to have too many people to sit in a booth. Jonny figured that Chris's father and mother would sit together, so he followed Chris.

“I'll sit on the inside, Jonny,” Chris informed him, already halfway into the booth. With a snorting laugh he added, “That way you don't have to feel like you're trapped.”

Chris's parents laughed along, and Jonny noted that Chris's laugh appeared to have been inherited. Oddly, Jonny found himself too happy to actually laugh with them; he just grinned and took his seat beside Chris.

The pile of menus the waitress had left behind sat at Jonny's end of the table. Chris's father, who sat opposite Jonny, took the liberty of distributing them throughout the party. Jonny had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he opened the menu. It may as well have been written in Greek. He discreetly looked up to see that Chris's parents were both heavily involved in their menus. He also noticed the rambunctious family at the table next to theirs and figured they were uproarious enough that he had no reason to fear being overheard.

“Chris,” he urgently whispered, but Chris did not respond. He waited a few seconds more before he tried again to capture Chris's attention. Chris innocently looked up and blinked a few times. Jonny gestured to the menu in his hands.

“Oh,” Chris finally responded. Then he turned back to his own menu and flipped through a few pages. Jonny bit his lip and watched in anticipation. Chris shot a glance at him again and flatly asked, “Do you like pizza?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jonny said with a shrug. He couldn't even remember the last time he ate pizza, though. If he ever had.

Chris reached over and grabbed Jonny's menu. He closed it and stacked it on top of his own menu, then placed the two on the tabletop. “Mum?”

“Yes, Chris?”

“Um,” Chris pointedly clasped his hands in front of himself in a very business-like manner, “Jonny and I request to share a pizza.”

Without even looking up from her menu, she replied, “All right.”

Chris gave Jonny the thumbs-up sign, until his thick-rimmed glasses slid down and he had to attend to that matter instead. When he turned back to Jonny, he looked as though he had been struck with a thought. “Oh. Is just cheese all right, Jonny?”

“Yeah, that's fine.”

“Good. I don't usually eat toppings on pizza, other than cheese. It just doesn't taste right.” Chris shrugged, then suddenly he flung his arm out and grabbed the salt shaker from the center of the table. He placed the shaker on top of the stack of menus, then did the same with the pepper shaker. Then he proceeded to add various bottles of condiments – the ketchup, the mustard – to the mix. After a while he looked at Jonny, who had been watching the entire time, and simply explained, “I have nothing better to do.”

Jonny shook his head in semi-disapproval, but the smile plastered on his face suggested that he wholeheartedly approved of Chris's weird quirks. Which he definitely did.

Chris rushed past the large crowd of students playing footbag by the school's entrance. He had made a habit of exiting the school as quickly as possible once the end of the day's bell rang, just so that he could reach home and, more importantly, Jonny as quickly as possible. One of the students in the circle nearly bumped into him as she backed up to hit the foot sack with her shoulder in a timely fashion, but luckily Chris dodged out of the way. He meant to keep walking, but a sudden and familiar laughter halted him in his tracks.

He turned his head ever so slowly to the left, as that appeared to be the direction from which the laughter originated. Standing roughly ten feet away, teeth biting down hard on his bottom lip to stifle any further laughter, was Jonny. Chris blinked forcefully to ensure that he had not simply imagined the other boy's presence, and he was delighted to find that when his eyelids reopened, Jonny still stood, looking at him and smiling.

“Jonny!” Chris beamed, taking the necessary steps forward in order to reach the smiling boy. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, obviously I'm here to watch you get nearly trampled by teenage girls,” Jonny replied in a sly way that made Chris feel like his insides were grinning.

“Oh, that.” Chris shrugged. Then, after a few moments of not knowing what to do, he sharply inhaled and leaned in closer to Jonny.

But Jonny cringed backwards, holding up a hand in between Chris and himself. “Chris, uh, not – not here. Not...” Jonny cleared his throat, “in public.”

Chris slouched back and nodded firmly. “Oh, OK.” He pushed up the frames of his glasses and noticed that Jonny was staring off into the distance behind him, an almost pained expression painted across his face. He turned to follow Jonny's gaze, his eyes stumbling upon two thuggish boys relatively close to the doors of the school. “Those are your friends, right?” he tentatively asked, knowing full well that they were in fact Jonny's friends.

“Yeah.” Jonny's tone made Chris want to throw his arms around the other boy and hold on as tightly as he could without causing injury. He held his breath for a few seconds and reminded himself, Not here.

“But you haven't talked to them in a while.”

Jonny ducked his head momentarily as he mumbled, “They just sorta stopped coming around.” Then he flicked his eyes up at Chris again, making brief eye contact and sighing. Chris could feel Jonny's pain in his chest as if it were his own, and he thought maybe the look in Jonny's eyes said, You're my only friend now. Part of him felt special thinking that – he and Jonny, together, against the world – but he knew that it didn't make Jonny feel special at all, and so the other part of him burned with empathy.

“Shall we leave?”

Jonny nodded slightly and began to stalk off towards the road. Chris walked beside him, very close, and he scrunched up his nose to keep his glasses from falling as he stared at the ground beneath them. He felt very tempted to grab Jonny's hand, but once more Not here rung in his ears. Which was just as well, as Jonny had folded his arms across his chest and so his hands were not really available anyway.

They walked quietly for roughly five minutes. Chris had wanted to say something, but try as he might, he could not think of a single word to utter. The entire time he just thought about what other people would normally do in this sort of situation, coming up quite short-handed, until finally Jonny was the one to break the silence.

“Do you need me to carry any of your books for you?” he asked, one of his hands reaching up to nervously scratch the back of his neck. Chris looked at him and smiled, a sort of excitement lit in his eyes.

“No, I finally got my locker to open!” he exclaimed. “So, I only have a few books in my bag.” In seemingly genuine interest, Jonny raised his eyebrows.

“You actually got it open?”

“Yeah! I was so happy I almost started dancing, until I remembered that I was in a hallway full of other people and I can't dance.” Chris shrugged, stared off into space and tilted his head.

“I'm sure your dancing is lovely,” Jonny said with a smile capering about his lips.

“Then maybe I'll dance for you later.” Chris was completely aware of not only how suggestive the reply was, but how strange he sounded saying it. His voice came out very flat and almost unenthusiastic, and how could anyone like that? He was too awkward for his own good.

“Oh my. That sounds promising. But you're not going to make me pay for such a private viewing, are you?” Jonny spoke quietly, his voice deep and rough. Chris wondered how he could emulate such a tone through his own voice. Could he, even?

“Well, I guess that depends on what you're willing to consider payment.”

Jonny laughed, throatily, and the pair continued to trade provocative statements – Chris envying Jonny's natural talent at sounding unbelievably sexy the entire time – until finally they reached the alley. Normally, Chris would have left briefly to place his belongings in his room, but today he did not feel like doing such a thing. He really just wanted to be with Jonny for a while, so he figured that his room, as well as his parents, could wait.

Chris carelessly tossed his backpack to the ground and sat down in his usual spot beside Jonny. “So, what shall we be reading today, Jonny?”

“Oh, you aren't going to dance for me?”

Chris shook his head, then authoritatively waved a finger at Jonny's face. “Education first, mister.”

Jonny sighed and rolled his eyes. “Of course. How foolish of me.”

They spent the next few minutes deciding on which of the books (all had come from Chris's attic) would be the one they would focus on for the day. Jonny read for an hour or so before Chris, struck with a sudden musing, interrupted him mid-sentence.

“Jonny, can you write?”

Unwavering, Jonny finished the sentence he was on, then turned to Chris. “What?”

“Can you write?” Chris repeated, pushing his glasses up and then clasping his hands together. He stared at Jonny expectantly as Jonny shot him a bewildered look. He didn't know if that meant yes or not.

“I... can write my name. That's about it.”

Chris nodded several times in a thoughtful way. He snatched the book from Jonny's hands without warning, and grabbed his backpack, which still rested a few feet away. From the backpack he extracted a pen and a plain yellow folder. He took a few sheets of blank lined paper from the pockets of the folder and handed the bundle over to Jonny. Jonny cautiously accepted Chris's offerings, the pen shaking slightly in his hand as he stared at the paper.

“I haven't... done this in a while, so...” Jonny lifted his green eyes and pointed them at Chris. “I'm not sure I remember exactly how to.”

“Just try,” Chris told him with what he hoped came out as an encouraging smile. He watched closely as Jonny went back to the paper, finally allowing the pen to touch its thin surface. The first letter came out as a rather crooked hook, and Chris could already sense Jonny's desire to give up. But he continued, moving the pen much slower this time to make the 'o,' which appeared a lot steadier than the 'J'. Next came the double 'n's, and as Chris observed his mind wandered and he thought about magnets.

If the Earth were entirely covered in a sheet of metal, and somewhere in space – far away from this galaxy, maybe even at the illusive other end of the universe – an enormous magnet existed, larger than the entire Milky Way, would the Earth suddenly be pulled to it? How long would it take to reach the magnet, especially if it were at the other end of the universe? Could the universe actually have an end? And how would the magnet truly differ from the sun, for wasn't the sun's gravitational pull a sort of magnetic force to begin with?

By the time Chris pulled himself away from the ceaseless questions and back to the present, Jonny had finished his first name and was working on what Chris guessed was his last name. When completed, Jonny leaned back and Chris read out what he had written.

“Jonny Buckland. Very nice.”

“Yeah, it's all right,” Jonny said in a low voice. Chris was unsure of whether Jonny meant his handwriting or his name. Either way, he thought it best not to dwell, and so he took the paper in his right hand and the pen in his left. He knew Jonny was watching him as he started to write his own name.

“My handwriting isn't so good,” he told Jonny in an almost apologetic tone, pulling his hand away so that Jonny could see. “Since I'm left-handed, I guess, so the ink tends to smudge. It's just not that good anyway, even if there weren't any smudges.”

“Chris,” Jonny mumbled. Chris turned to him with a questioning look, but he realized that Jonny was simply trying to read the paper. He felt a little guilty now for not making it more legible. “M... Mar... Martin?”

“Yeah.” Chris beamed and shrugged his shoulders. Jonny reached over and slipped the pen out of Chris's hand. On the fourth line of the page, he began to copy Chris's writing. He slid the fingers of his left hand under the folder to keep it steady, and Chris's breath hitched, as Jonny had grazed a very tender spot on Chris's leg. He was certain he saw a faint smile etched on Jonny's face afterward. Chris cleared his throat. “Looks good, Jonny.”

Jonny looked up at Chris and flashed him a wily grin. “You're right, your handwriting sucks. Even compared to mine.”

Chris gasped and tried to frown in an obviously fake way. He pushed up his glasses, lifted a hand to his heart and wished that he had the ability to produce tears on call. “That hurts me, Jonny. I am hurt by your words.”

“Yeah, well,” Jonny leaned in until there was only an inch between his face and Chris's, “you still owe me a dance.”

“Fine, but you have to dance with me.”

“Deal.” Chris smiled and bent forward, briefly locking lips with Jonny. Then he held out his hand to Jonny as he stood. Jonny sighed and rolled his eyes. As he held onto Chris's hand, he said, “This better be good.”

Chris shrugged. “Well, I already told you I can't dance, so you've gotten your hopes up for nothing.” He released Jonny's hand and took a step backward, a deep breath. “OK. Let's do this.”

Chris brought his arms up towards his chest, but, unsure of what to do next, he let them fall to his sides again. Then he realized that this was quite a good move to start with, so he repeated the motion. He already regretted agreeing to Jonny's request. In an attempt to look slightly less awkward, he began to move his feet as well. Dancing might have been easier if there was anything to dance to. His eyes had roamed around the alleyway in order to not meet Jonny's stare and feel even more embarrassed, but when he did finally catch Jonny's gaze, he noticed that the other boy was just watching him and smiling.

“Come on,” he whined. “You have to do this, too, you know.” Jonny narrowed his eyes at Chris, but he did begin to move in what looked like an attempt to mock Chris. After a few moments, though, Jonny seemed to have found his own rhythm, and was doing a whole mess of ridiculous dance moves, even more ridiculous, Chris felt, than just pumping his arms and shuffling. Chris gave one loud, obnoxious laugh and said, “Nice moves.”

Jonny laughed heartily and shook his head. “I'm not a dancer, either.”

Chris laughed along, shuffling his feet so that he became closer to Jonny. He managed to grab hold of Jonny's left hand with his right, lacing their fingers together. He set his left hand on Jonny's shoulder, and felt Jonny's hand placed gently on his back. Several seconds passed as they still moved out of sync with each other, but before long they were dancing perfectly together. “This is much better.”

“Yeah,” Jonny agreed, “I bet we don't look like idiots now.”

“Certainly not.”

Without the use of his hands, Chris had to resort to scrunching his nose to keep his glasses from sliding. Jonny watched him and smiled the entire time. After a few minutes, dizziness began to set in, and so they stopped spinning around and settled for slightly moving back and forth within a very limited range of distance. They must have danced for ten minutes at the very least; Chris was quite enjoying himself even though his nose was beginning to ache.

“You have to go home soon, don't you?” Jonny quietly asked in Chris's ear. His fingers curled slightly into Chris's back, though not so much that the action caused Chris any pain. In turn, Chris gripped Jonny's shoulder just a pinch tighter.

“Yeah, probably,” he mumbled. “My parents might be wondering where I am, although I'm sure they could guess.”

“All right.” Jonny moved back slightly and placed a kiss on Chris's cheek. “Well, I don't think we should try for careers in dancing, that's for sure.”

“No, I don't think so either.” Chris laughed lightly and went to pick up his backpack. Jonny bent down beside him and held the paper they had written on earlier.

“Do you – Do you mind if I keep this?”

Chris turned to Jonny, whose head was bowed down sheepishly, as if his question had been embarrassing. Chris smiled at him, shrugged and said, “Sure.”

Head still ducked, Jonny folded the paper in half and slid it into the book to mark where they had left off. Chris looked to him after he had slid his arms through the straps of his backpack. His eyes followed as Jonny slowly stood up. Chris stepped towards him, thumbs looped around his backpack straps.

“You look like you're going to your first day of kindergarten,” Jonny told him, grinning.

Chris laughed, then promptly kissed Jonny. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Chris.”

After making certain that his glasses were properly pushed up, Chris spun around and began to walk home. He could sense Jonny's eyes on his person until the rounded the corner, and then quite suddenly he felt sad. He often felt this way after parting from Jonny, especially on days like this when they had been so happy together. Chris hated leaving that behind.

The next day he made sure to scan the school yard for Jonny once classes had ended, but there was no sign of the green-eyed boy. Chris went along without fretting, assuming that Jonny would just be waiting for him by the alley as he always did. But as Chris trudged down the sidewalk, he noticed a very familiar dark blue car drive up beside him.

He stopped and turned as his father rolled down the window. “Chris, Chris, Chris,” Stephen said, nodding towards the back seat of the car. “Hop on in.”

“Oh.” Chris did as he was told, opening the back door and hurriedly sitting down. “Where are we going?” he asked, once they began to drive down the road.

“We're going over to your aunt's tonight,” Stephen replied.

“Oh.” Chris tried not to sound disappointed or upset; it wasn't that he didn't like his aunt or cousins – they were all very nice people, actually – but he had a strong feeling that he wouldn't see Jonny again until the next day. He had been looking forward to hanging out with Jonny all day, ever since he woke up to the sound of his mother waltzing into his room with a breakfast tray. But he hadn't seen his cousins in months, and he had completely forgotten to write his aunt a thank-you note for the last birthday present she had sent him, so maybe he owed it to them to visit. That was what he told himself, anyway, several times during the evening, because he had no choice but to be there.

When they did finally return home, it was nearly eleven o'clock and Chris was so tired that he didn't even bother staying up to do any of his homework. He did have a study hall first thing in the morning, so he figured that would provide him with ample time to complete his assignments. Then for the rest of the day, he tried to concentrate in classes, but was totally unsuccessful as his desire to see Jonny was even stronger than it had been the day before.

Again, Chris was not surprised to not find Jonny waiting for him outside of the school. He decided now that it had been a one-time thing, which was perfectly all right with him. But ten minutes later, his house in sight and only a few hundred feet away, he did not see Jonny waiting for him, and he did worry. He turned down the alley and saw that Jonny was sitting in his usual corner, knees to his chest and staring at the ground in very much the same way he had when Chris had done that really stupid thing he didn't like to even think about anymore.

Chris slowly walked towards Jonny, who didn't seem to show any sign that he knew Chris was there. Chris was unbelievably happy at being in Jonny's presence, though he could definitely sense that something was not quite right.

“Jonny?”

Jonny looked up at Chris, utterly tired and, oddly, surprised. “Hey,” he weakly said. “I, uh... Where were you yesterday?” Chris quickly explained that he had been dragged to his aunt's house and had only returned at a ridiculously late hour. “Oh. All right.”

Chris absentmindedly licked his lips. He hadn't quite fixed the situation yet. He looked around lamely, as if that would solve anything. Then he noticed that there were a large number of cigarette butts in a neat pile to the right of Jonny. Almost without thinking, he said, “That's quite a lot of cigarettes.”

“You know I smoke,” Jonny quietly replied, then coughed, as if the two were connected.

“Yeah, but,” Chris looked over at Jonny, pushed up his glasses, “none of those were there two days ago, were they?”

Jonny stared for a while, the expression on his face indicating to Chris that he was trying very hard to hold something back – some emotion, some word, some part of himself that Chris wasn't supposed to see. “I was worried.”

Now Chris felt as if at least one issue had been addressed. And he felt a rather awful burning in his limbs, whether guilt or empathy he could not say. “I would have told you, Jonny, but I didn't have any way to-”

“It's not your fault,” Jonny interrupted, shaking his head, his voice much louder than before. Still Chris felt the burning, so he scrunched his nose and formulated a plan.

“Do you want to go for a walk around town?” Jonny looked up at him and nodded. Chris held out his hand, but it seemed that by the time he did, Jonny had already stood up. He let his hand fall back to his side, dejectedly.

“My stuff will be safe if I leave it here, right?” he asked. He could still see reservation shining in Jonny's eyes.

“Should be.” Chris removed his backpack and dropped it on the ground. Casually, the two started towards the opening of the alley.

They were silent for a while as they walked into the town, past many of the busy stores. Chris walked on Jonny's left, relying on Jonny to navigate them through the streets because he was too busy watching the green-eyed boy. Jonny had his arms folded across his chest, staring out into the distance in front of them. The look in his eyes suggested that he had spaced out, but Chris had a feeling Jonny paid closer attention to their surroundings than at first appeared.

In a way, Chris wondered if going for a walk hadn't been the best idea after all. He found himself sporadically glancing back and forth between Jonny and the semi-crowded street around them, while the disheartening Not here played repeatedly in his mind. He swung his arms a bit, having nothing better to do with his hands but clap them together at the height of each swing.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity spent in silence, Jonny quietly asked, “Is it all right if we skip the reading today?” When Chris looked at him, he added, “I don't really feel up to it.”

“Yeah, we can skip it,” Chris said. If he couldn't make Jonny feel better any other way, maybe this would do. He shrugged his shoulders. “I think you've been making a lot of progress with that.”

“Thanks.”

Then the quiet fell over them once more, and neither spoke until they were back in the alley. Chris had, in another attempt to brighten Jonny's mood, mentioned that his backpack was indeed still there, joking that if it hadn't been, maybe Jonny should find his friends and ask them to give it back.

“Although, I guess that would give me a good excuse not to have my homework,” he said. Chris did not laugh, though, until he was certain that Jonny took no offense. To his relief, Jonny gave him a smile, if not halfhearted, and so he felt it appropriate to laugh.

“I could give you a pretty good excuse not to have your homework,” Jonny retorted, “and you'd be able to keep your things as well.” Chris stared at him, blankly, not entirely sure how to react or what Jonny had in mind. Obviously, it was something rather intimate, but as far as Chris was concerned, that didn't narrow the options down too much.

“More dancing?” Chris replied, though not with discomfort. He simply couldn't think of anything else to say. Jonny sort of grimaced and shook his head. “Oh. Well, then, I'm not sure I can partake in this activity, Jonny. After all, I am just a young, innocent, teenage boy.”

Jonny nodded and responded with, “Aren't we all,” which Chris thought sounded more like a statement than a question.

Chris shrugged. “Well, I think there are a lot of girls in the world who aren't boys.”

“That's true.” Jonny smiled in defeat. He looked down at Chris's hands, wrapped tightly around the straps of his backpack. Chris thought he heard a sigh. “I take it you'll be going home now?”

“I can stay if you want.”

“No, it's all right. You should do your homework and remain an innocent teenage boy.”

“Well, I guess I can't argue with that.” Chris's shoulders twitched up and he began to take a few steps backward. Pointing a stern finger at Jonny, he said, “Tomorrow, we will continue reading. Don't think you're getting out of it forever.”

Jonny rolled his eyes, but Chris could see that he was clearly smiling. “Can't wait.”

Chris paused momentarily to stare at Jonny. Then, a few seconds later, he turned around and went home, a strange feeling sweeping over him. He felt like maybe he had left too soon, yet he also felt as if he hadn't left soon enough. The sensation unnerved him, even long after he was stowed away in his room with his untouched homework in his lap.

This was only the beginning. Chris observed in the following days several instances which led him to believe that something had changed, and not for the better. He and Jonny spent less time sitting beside each other and reading from Chris's books and more time walking around town in silence. Jonny bid Chris farewell each afternoon with a hug that always felt as if it were meant for mere acquaintances.

But there were times which appeared as though nothing had changed at all; when one day Chris made a joke about his mother's cooking, Jonny looked up at him and grinned from ear to ear. His eyes seemed to glow in a way Chris hadn't seen in a fortnight. Chris was so happy then that he barely noticed Jonny scoot an inch away from him afterward, but he did catch it.

Slowly it became apparent to Chris that Jonny moved away from him any time he tried to get closer. Each time Chris's throat went dry and when he spoke his voice would come out unintentionally hoarse. He realized one day, sadly, that they only ever touched when Jonny initiated it. Suddenly, Chris found himself not looking forward during the day to meeting Jonny after school. On the weekends he stayed in bed longer, because he couldn't brave that tightening pain in his chest when Jonny greeted him with an absentminded, “Hey.”

So, as always, Chris formulated a plan. He ran through the strategy in his mind as he walked home from school. The plan was relatively simple – Chris was just going to forget that everything felt different and act as if Jonny wasn't trying to avoid him – but he was truly afraid that it would fail.

He could see Jonny standing and waiting even from a far distance. There were butterflies flapping frantically in his stomach, pins and needles pricking through his veins. The plan had to work. It had to.

Chris steadied his breathing as he stopped in front of Jonny. “Good afternoon,” he said in a surprisingly plain and calm voice. Jonny lightly laughed at him.

“Good afternoon to you as well, sir.”

Then Chris thought Oh. I can do this. He smiled and leaned in to kiss Jonny. He couldn't do it, actually, because as soon as he moved Jonny knew what he was doing, held up his hand and said those two dreadful words:

“Not here.”

Chris always thought of himself as somewhat of a nerdy boy. He wore glasses and braces, yes, but he also had a love for knowledge. He really did like school, in a way that no one else his age seemed to. He was always eager to learn; however, what he was taught in school didn't always stick with him, and he was by no means a genius. Regardless, he was sure that in all of his schooling he had never been taught that human organs could rip apart by themselves, and therefore his heart could not have literally broken in two. Yet, the pain was there, as if someone had opened his chest while he was still conscious and had guillotined his heart – worse, actually, because Jonny had done it.

His pain must not have been apparent, though, because Jonny nodded to the alley and said, “Come on,” without any hint of having seen a change in Chris's expression. Chris watched as he walked away, and then furrowed his eyebrows, scanning the surrounding area.

“No.”

Jonny stopped and quickly spun around. There was clear panic in his face. “What?”

Chris took a deep breath. “I'm done,” he said.

“What?” Jonny repeated, no less fearfully than before.

“I'm tired of you leading me on, OK?” Watching the frightened look strewn across Jonny's visage, Chris felt a strange sense of empowerment. “I'm done. I'm going home.”

True to his word, Chris stormed past Jonny, who was still standing in the opening of the alley and gaping. After a few seconds, Chris heard Jonny exclaiming behind him, “Wait! Chris!” but Chris ignored his shouts and didn't stop moving until he was inside his house. He closed the front door and immediately sat down after dropping his backpack to the floor. He brought his knees to his chest and buried his head in his knees, hoping that his mother wouldn't come in and ask him what was wrong.

He only sat for a minute or so before Jonny knocked on the door, shouting his name again. Chris let him yell for a few moments, and then finally stood up and opened the door.

“Chris,” Jonny said in an exasperated tone. Chris stepped onto the porch and shut the door again. “I-I... Will you at least explain to me...”

Chris stared out into the alleyway, carefully averting Jonny's gaze. “Jonny, do you remember when you came to meet me at the school that one day?” He could see Jonny nod out of the corner of his eye, but he had planned to continue regardless of Jonny's response. “And when I tried to kiss you, you said, 'Not here.' Which is fine. Not liking public displays of affection. That's fine.” He accidentally looked at Jonny. He decided that he may as well not break the eye contact now. “But, Jonny, you said that to me even when we weren't in public.”

Jonny sighed heavily and shakily. Chris bravely took a step forward.

“It's OK if you don't like me, Jonny. I'm used to people not liking me. But will you just please tell me and stop messing around with me? Because I can't take it anymore.”

After a very long bout of silence, Jonny quietly said, “I'm sorry, Chris.” Chris took this as an answer rather than an apology, and he undid his brave step by moving back towards the door. His hand was on the doorknob as Jonny declared, “No, no, I do! I do like you.”

“Then prove it.” By this time, Chris was standing inside again, and he nearly slammed the door shut. He wasn't sure why he chose to say that as his last statement, or how Jonny was supposed to prove anything now that the door had practically been closed in his face, but he ignored his strange logic and snatched his backpack up from the floor.

From the safety of his room, he stared down into the alleyway for most of the evening. A few times he saw Jonny pacing around, and he wondered if Jonny would actually do as he said. A large part of him wanted to believe that Jonny would, because otherwise it meant they really were over, and Chris didn't like that at all.

Chris went to bed earlier than usual that night. A couple of hours had passed since he had last seen Jonny, and as he slid under the covers he did not feel very confident in what the future held.

In the morning his mother whispered loudly from the doorway to wake him up. As his mind was trying to register reality, he wondered why she didn't just use her normal voice to wake him. He turned his head towards the door and sleepily rubbed his eyes.

“What is it, mum?” he mumbled, finding it difficult to keep his eyes open.

“I think you might want to have a look outside, dear,” she replied. Chris reached for his glasses and shoved the frames onto his face. He stumbled out of bed and across the few feet to the window. Immediately, a blob of some sort of pink substance that had been smeared across the building opposite their house caught his eye, and he assumed that was what his mother was referring to. But he had no clue what it was or what it was supposed to mean. “It might be best if you look from the living room.”

Chris nodded, pushed his glasses up, and followed his mother downstairs. Even from the entrance to the living room he could see the pink substance through the window, which now appeared to Chris to be spray paint. His heart raced as he stopped at the window and took in the letters the spray paint formed, spelling out the words I LOVE CHRIS MARTIN.

Even though Chris's mouth was always open anyway, he felt his jaw drop at the sight. Ignoring all of his mother's pressing questions, such as, “Where are you going?” and, “Shouldn't you at least put socks on?” he ran outside, still barefoot and in his pajamas, leaving the front door wide open, but not having the slightest care. He flew down the alleyway and towards Jonny, who lay against a garbage bag in seeming unconsciousness. Chris did not think at all in those few seconds; even though Jonny was clearly sleeping he still bolted towards the boy, and when he reached Jonny he threw his arms around him and squeezed him like he was just a giant teddy bear. Jonny was roused by the action, lifting his head and staring with a bit of confusion at Chris.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” he muttered. Chris pressed his cheek against Jonny's and held him even tighter.

“I love you, too, Jonny.” And as Jonny's declaration had pulled Chris completely from his tired state, so Jonny was energized by Chris's reply.

“You do?”

Chris nodded and pulled back a little, so that Jonny could wrap his arms around him as well. Chris thought he could sense something like relief in the way that Jonny hugged him, though perhaps it was simply his own relief he was feeling. He had honestly been terrified until he looked out of his bedroom window, and now all he could think about was how lucky he felt.

“Jonny,” Chris began several minutes later, when they were no longer embracing, “where did you get that spray paint from?”

Jonny gave him a slightly fake smile and answered, “Nicked it from one of the shops.”

“Oh.”

Jonny twisted up his mouth as Chris fixed his glasses. “Do you have school today?” Then, after Chris nodded, he continued, “I can walk with you, if you like.”

Chris beamed. “All right. But I have to go finish getting ready first. I'll come back out in, like, fifteen minutes.”

Then, fifteen minutes later, Chris found Jonny standing outside of the alley, casually waiting. Chris smiled as he walked up. Surprisingly, Jonny grabbed Chris's hand, lacing their fingers together, and they started towards the street. Chris was unsure of just how widely he could smile without breaking any part of his face, but Jonny seemed content to try to test the limits. Of course, he probably wasn't doing so intentionally. Chris still couldn't help beaming.

They didn't do much talking at first, so as they walked Chris was able to think over a lot of what had happened in the weeks prior, as well as overnight. As happy as he felt, Chris did think it a bit strange how everything changed so quickly.

“Jonny, do you actually love me?” Though he wasn't looking at Jonny, he could sense green eyes shooting him a look. Jonny answered as if he knew exactly what Chris had been thinking.

“Yes, I'm not just saying it. I know it's not something to just say, it's not something to take lightly. And I have liked other guys before. I know what that feels like compared to this. Even if we are kinda... young-ish... I mean, it's not like I've never liked anyone before and I've suddenly decided I'm in love.”

Chris felt a twinge and frowned. “Oh.”

“That's not what I meant,” Jonny apologetically replied.

“I know.” Chris turned to face Jonny and shook his head. “No, it's OK.”

“And I do believe you.”

Chris shrugged. “Maybe that's because you're in love with me.” Jonny laughed, kissed Chris on the cheek, and then took his hand back, swinging his arm over Chris's shoulder. Chris wrapped his own now-free arm around Jonny's waist. “I just don't understand why you acted like that, then. If you do.”

Jonny let out a low sigh. “It's hard,” he hoarsely said, and somehow Chris knew exactly what he meant; or, he knew enough to forgive Jonny completely.

When they reached the school, Chris felt Jonny's arm tense around his shoulder. He looked up and into the crowd of schoolchildren and, sure enough, found Jonny's so-called friends standing not too far in the distance. But he turned and Jonny didn't seem upset. In fact, he was smiling as he too turned to face Chris.

“Well, I guess this is it, then.” Chris nodded, and at first he thought the situation felt rather first-date like. His eyebrows involuntarily lowered. “Have a good day, yeah? Don't let people throw stuff at you.”

“I'll try.” Jonny, still beaming, shrugged his shoulders (this forced Chris to double-check that he was actually Chris and Jonny was still Jonny). Then he reached out and pushed back a lock of Chris's hair. After very wrongly making an association with the times his mother used to fix his hair, Chris found himself pulled into a rather tentative kiss.

“Hey, Chris?” Jonny quietly asked when they were still only an inch apart.

“Yeah?”

“Don't go back to being asexual, please.” Then he kissed him again. And again. And a third time for good measure. Chris felt like he was having trouble keeping up. After the fourth one, Jonny lightly laughed and pulled back a bit further. “Oh. I guess you have to actually go in, huh?”

Chris laughed along. “Yeah, I kinda do.”

“It's not enough that you're at the school?” Chris crinkled his nose and shook his head. Jonny sighed. “Greedy bastards.”

“But maybe it's like what my mum used to tell me when I was younger and refused to go to bed.”

“What's that?”

“The quicker I fall asleep, the quicker I'll wake up and be able to...” Chris paused briefly to blush and consider almost not finishing the sentence. “To finish reading my comic books.”

“Ah, so you're saying that I should leave, and then before I know it the day will be over and you'll be back?” Jonny thought about this with his eyes pointed towards the sky, tilting his head back and forth. “That hardly seems right. I mean, it's not like they'd let you out early just because you showed up early.”

“Oh. That's a good point.” Chris glanced at their surroundings and pushed up his glasses. “They don't let me read my comic books in class, either.”

Jonny laughed softly. “Poor you. Goodbye, Chris,” he said, and after a three-second pause, he kissed Chris one last time.

“Goodbye.”

Chris remained standing in the same spot even after Jonny had left, feeling much too giddy to move just yet. Plus, he was not entirely convinced that this was the real world; perhaps he was still tucked away in his bed and peacefully sleeping.

Dream or not, he did eventually walk into the school. Once he stopped at his locker to collect his books, dropped his math textbook – the heaviest of the lot, of course – on his foot and felt the sharp pain even through his shoe, he thought it would be safe to assume he actually was awake. He had never felt pain in a dream before. Or happiness, now that he thought about it.

In math class they discussed limits, and Chris found his attention drifting elsewhere. He stared out the window at the nearly cloudless and beautifully blue sky, wishing that the sun was just a little further to the west than it was now. In his mind, the blue of the sky mixed with the yellow of the sun, and all he could think about was a thuggish green-eyed boy who really wasn't that thuggish at all. Maybe just a little intimidating in appearance, but nothing else. Chris was definitely lucky, though maybe a bit too lucky for his own good.

Throughout the rest of the day he wondered how all those other students who had been outside in the morning could have not seen he and Jonny together, for surely if anyone had they would have said something to him, probably made fun of him, and yet he had not received any more torment than usual. Unless they simply did not care, which still left Chris feeling puzzled.

Jonny waited in the schoolyard again that afternoon, much to Chris's delight. They skipped the grand salutations, though, for the opportunity to return to the alleyway as quickly as possible. Jonny seemed eager to show Chris something, though he refused to say what. Chris felt his anticipation grow larger as they neared the alley.

From the pile of books in the corner of the alley, Jonny pulled out a story which they had not yet read together. “I did some practicing today while you were gone,” Jonny said to Chris, holding up the book.

Chris thought he felt something like pride swell inside of him. “Really?”

Jonny nodded and they spent the next ten minutes going over the story. Chris realized then just how much progress Jonny had made during their time together. He thought about it some more and came to the conclusion that Jonny's hard work and perseverance were definitely on the list of things about Jonny to love, which brought Chris to bring up a seemingly random question:

“Why do you believe me, Jonny?” Chris asked, presently unaware that Jonny, not having heard any of Chris's internal monologue, had absolutely no clue what Chris was referring to.

“What?”

Chris looked at Jonny and lowered his eyebrows. “This morning you said that you believe me. That you believe that I love you. But why?”

“Why? Uh...” Jonny seemed to be at a loss for words, whether because he was taken aback by Chris's question or because he simply had no answer, Chris did not know. He feebly gave up after a few seconds. “Why wouldn't I?”

“You said it yourself. You're way more experienced than I am. I don't know about any of this stuff at all. I've never even liked anyone else before. Why should you believe me?”

“I don't know,” Jonny said in a defensively quiet voice, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess... I know you wouldn't lie to me.”

“But I could be mistaken.”

“Well... that's not your fault, then. If you believe yourself, then I believe you.” Jonny shifted slightly so that his body was angled towards Chris. “Why does it matter so much?” he asked, not with bitterness, but with concern.

Chris's shoulders twitched upwards as he stared at the ground, purposely avoiding Jonny's gaze. “I just feel really confused.” And he also felt their afternoon was taking a surprisingly serious turn, but he kept the mood going anyway; he scrunched up his nose and took the lack of response from Jonny as an invitation to continue. “Because I like you... I love you, but you're the only person I've ever felt like this for. Felt anything for, really, so, it's – it isn't very clear to me at all. My parents, well, they probably don't think I am, but they want me to be some really popular kid with lots of friends and lots of girlfriends, and I feel like I'm disappointing them because I don't fit in and I don't even know if I like girls. I've never liked a girl, but I've never liked another boy before, either. You're the first person I've ever liked, but you are a boy and I don't know if that means anything.”

Jonny was silent for another few seconds. Chris was slightly glad for this; with the quietness it was easier for him to pretend like he was just talking to himself again, which he figured was part of the reason he had been able to say all of that aloud.

“I'm sorry you feel like that,” Jonny finally told him. “I know what that's like, to have no idea what's going on and to not have anyone to talk to about it. I can't promise that I can actually help you, but I am willing to listen at least. It shouldn't matter anyway, though. Who cares who you like?”

Chris smiled. “As long as I like you, right?”

“Yeah,” Jonny laughed.

They were only kissing at first – snogging, as Chris so Britishly thought to himself – but Chris should have expected (though maybe deep down, he had) that being alone with Jonny in his room with a decent sized bed while the house was completely devoid of other beings would lead to other things, like him being spread flat on his back while Jonny was roaming somewhere around his navel.

Chris's parents had gone out for a nice dinner date that evening and so Chris was left by himself for several hours. He had informed Jonny of this and told him that he was not allowed out while his parents were gone. He thought nothing of inviting Jonny inside, though, under the pretense that they would be hanging out in his room. Which he would certainly be doing now, of course not with the same connotation.

He felt Jonny undo the button and unzip the zipper on his trousers. He laid there and stared at the ceiling, wondering if he should take off his glasses for this. Jonny would probably say something about it if it was necessary.

Chris let out a low and breathy moan as Jonny kissed the bit of soft skin exposed between the hem of his shirt and the elastic waistband of his boxers. He wasn't sure if he was quite ready or prepared for all of this, yet he felt the pressing desire burning in his extremities and he knew he wanted to try it. Plus, Jonny was practically unstoppable at this point and if Chris was being honest with himself, he knew full well from the moment he opened the door to Jonny that this was where they would end up.

He raised his hips slightly, just enough to allow Jonny to slide his jeans down his thighs, the fabric gathering at his knees when he relaxed back into the mattress. Then Jonny's fingers curled around the elastic waistband stretched across his pelvis and slowly peeled back the thin fabric, and Chris sharply inhaled as a burst of air hit his bare skin. His eyes still pointed upwards, Chris let his eyelids steadily droop until all he saw was darkness; this allowed for him to better focus on the press of Jonny's lips on his skin, a sensation which was dangerously creeping up the inside of his leg until it was no longer Jonny's lips, but Jonny's tongue on the most sensitive skin he owned.

But within a few minutes, a time that felt far too short, it was all over. Chris gaped at the ceiling in shock as Jonny laid down beside him. He heard Jonny laugh softly and could feel his piercing gaze.

“Are you all right?”

“I-I just – ” Chris stammered – “You just... We just...”

“Yeah,” Jonny cautiously agreed, the amusement still seeping through his tone.

“Wow.”

Jonny laughed again, but abruptly stopped moments later. The mattress shifted a little as Jonny sat up, looking rather concerned. Chris turned to him and shot a questioning look, though Jonny did not see it, as he was turned towards the closed door.

“Did you hear that?” he asked. Chris strained his ears for any peculiar noises, but he heard nothing out of the ordinary.

Then, just as he was about to answer, a woman's voice called from the first floor, “Chris, we're back!” Chris immediately sat up as well and frantically tried to redress himself, all the while muttering various unpleasant but not exactly vulgar phrases, which he thought Jonny might have laughed at had the situation been not so frightening.

“Jonny!” Chris hissed when his trousers were properly on. “Jonny, you have to... hide... somewhere. Hide in the closet! My mum is probably going to come up here any minute and talk to me and if you're here that can't end well.”

“I – All right,” Jonny quickly acquiesced. He scurried across the room and into Chris's closet; no sooner had he closed the closet door than a knock sounded from the other door in the room. Chris apprehensively stood and went to open it, hoping his mother would only take a few seconds to talk at the most.

“Hi, mum.” Chris stood awkwardly and stared at his mother, wondering if he looked at all guilty.

“Chris, your father and I are going to watch a movie downstairs. Would you like to join us?”

Chris swallowed to wet his dry throat and tried not to sound too hoarse or to let his voice crack. “Uh, no thanks. I've... got some homework to do.”

“Can't you put it off for a few hours?”

Chris shrugged. “Well...”

“You're right,” his mother said, nodding. “I suppose we could all watch a movie together some other time, then. Well, your father and I will be downstairs if you need us.”

“Oh, OK.”

His mother glared for a few moments longer, then smiled politely and walked away. If he had looked any bit guilty, she certainly hadn't acknowledged it. Chris breathed a short sigh of relief as he closed his bedroom door again, then crossed the room and opened the closet door.

“There's a joke in all of this, I'm sure,” Jonny announced as he stepped out of the closet, motioning to the small space from whence he just came. “I think neither of us should make it, though.”

“Um,” Chris began, pushing up his glasses and squinting at the door. “I wasn't going to.”

“So... I guess I'm stuck in here for a while, huh? Unless you think you can manage to sneak me past your parents somehow.”

Chris thought for a few seconds. “Actually, maybe you should just stay here tonight.”

“You want me to spend the night?” Jonny asked in a voice that sounded more stirred than disbelieving. Chris watched as Jonny turned and shot a look back at Chris's bed. He felt a pang of sadness as he noticed the longing in Jonny's eyes and wondered just how long he had been sleeping in the alley outside. Chris figured the thought of sleeping in an actual bed was what enticed Jonny, never thinking that it may have been his presence in said bed which was more appealing.

“Yeah.”

Jonny looked back at Chris and smiled. “All right.” Chris beamed at Jonny as well, until Jonny gave him a pensive look instead. “You're parents won't be able to hear us talking from downstairs, will they?”

“Well, they might be able to.” Chris shrugged slightly, though he actually was not sure that his next sentence was really that much of a joke. “But I always talk to myself anyway, they won't be able to tell the difference.”

“Lucky for us, then.” Jonny smirked and glanced at the bed once more. Chris grabbed Jonny's hand and pulled him down to sit on the mattress. For several moments Chris eyed Jonny, brief clips of memories from earlier playing in his mind while his inner voice threw around phrases like repaying the favor. Then Jonny moved a tad and Chris realized their hands were still together. “That's an impressive comic book collection you have in that closet, by the way.”

Chris felt his cheeks redden for some reason, whether due to embarrassment or the fact that his thoughts had been less than pure he couldn't be sure. Either way, he cleared his throat and replied with, “Oh. I've been collecting them since I was about seven.”

“That's quite a long time.”

“Do you want to see some of them?” Jonny smiled and kindly nodded, and any of Chris's unrefined thoughts completely disappeared as he stood up and walked over to the closet.

They sat for a few hours on Chris's bed, Jonny flipping through various issues of Chris's comic books and quietly reading them with impressive speed. They alternated for a while, and so once Jonny finished an issue, Chris would begin to read the next. Chris sat up against the back of his bed frame with Jonny beside him, but Jonny was closer to lying, his head rested comfortably in the crook of Chris's elbow.

When the time neared eleven o'clock, Chris returned the comics to the grand collection and trudged across to his dresser. Jonny's attention was elsewhere as Chris pulled out two sets of pajamas and proceeded to hand one of the sets to Jonny. Chris said nothing, merely waited for Jonny to finally look up at him. He didn't mind, though, since he had plenty of time to just stare at Jonny, which was (now that he thought about it) one of his favorite things to do.

Jonny gave him a confused sort of look when he finally did move his eyes upward to find Chris's outstretched arm shoving clothing at him. Chris crinkled his nose and wondered if Jonny was ever going to take the pajamas from him.

“Oh. Unless you'd like these ones instead,” Chris suddenly spoke, switching the positions of his arms so that he held the other pajamas closer to Jonny. “I don't care either way.”

“You want me to sleep in your clothes?” Jonny asked in a tone that suggested his confusion or surprise had not subsided in the least, and had perhaps even increased slightly.

“Well, I just thought you might want to sleep in something more comfortable.”

“Thanks.” Jonny smiled in an almost shy way and he seemed to hesitate before finally taking the clothes from Chris's open arm. Chris noticed then that the pajamas Jonny had taken were actually his favorite ones – the shirt was made of the softest material he had ever felt in his life and the elastic waistband of the bottoms fit snugly against him, never too tight or too baggy like his other bottoms – and yet he felt an odd sort of pleasure knowing that Jonny would be the one to wear them now.

Without saying another word, Chris headed towards the other side of the room to leave Jonny to change on his own. He was tempted to sneak a peek at Jonny dressing, but somehow felt – a bit irrationally – that would be wrong in the end, and so he stuck to staring at the floor until he himself had changed.

But when he did finally look up again he found that Jonny had not finished entirely; Chris was just in time to catch a glimpse of the pale skin stretched over Jonny's thighs and burrowing under his strikingly red boxers, a shade which Chris was sure had thoroughly colored his own face by now. Jonny didn't seem to notice anything unusual, though, when his eyes met Chris's. He just gave a grin and returned to the bed.

Chris walked around to the light switch by his door. He waited until Jonny was comfortably underneath the blankets before turning out the light. He slid the thick black frames down his nose and off his face as he glided over to the bed.

“Jonny, can you put these on the nightstand for me?” Chris asked, reaching through the darkness to hand Jonny his folded glasses. Jonny did as he was asked, then laid on his side and stared as Chris settled beside him. Though the room was dark, a bit of moonlight shone through the window and allowed for both boys to see each other, at least well enough for Chris to notice the dumbfounded look in Jonny's eyes.

“Whoa...” Jonny whispered, sounding as if it was just a thought which he had accidentally voiced.

“What?”

“It's just – I've never seen you without your glasses on before. You look... like, an infinite amount of times more gorgeous than normal.”

Chris paused to ponder. He figured Jonny meant to compliment him. “Oh. Should I get contacts?”

As if Chris's question was completely ridiculous, Jonny plainly answered, “No.”

Chris scrunched his eyebrows together. “But you just said–”

“Without your glasses, you look a hell of a lot better. But with them on, you're Chris.” Chris could faintly see Jonny shrugging. He quieted himself to a murmur and added, almost sheepishly, “I love Chris.”

Chris felt quite startled to hear the words; though it was not the first time Jonny had confessed his love, Chris was used to hearing him say, “I love you,” and now, to hear his actual name in there, his insides twisted and he had the strong urge to bury his head in Jonny's shoulder and never move again.

“Oh, OK,” he replied, breathless and giddy. “Well, goodnight, Jonny.”

“Goodnight, Chris,” Jonny whispered back. Then they both wiggled closer to each other until their bodies were flush, and Chris felt Jonny's arms slide around his waist. He closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

When his consciousness returned, he found himself turned on his back with Jonny snuggled up against his chest. Though his eyes were closed, he felt the heavy weight of Jonny's arm on his stomach and figured that Jonny was still sleeping. He shifted a little and sleepily placed his hand on top of Jonny's and sighed into his pillow, determined to return to his dreams once more. Then he felt Jonny move as well and he smirked until Jonny was still and someone standing by the door cleared their throat.

Chris's eyes flew open and the blur in his doorway slowly took the shape of his mother. How could he have possibly forgotten (or at least not considered) that his mother often came into his room to wake him up on weekends? He looked down at Jonny, who hadn't bothered to glance over and was staring with wide eyes at Chris's chest. Chris let his head fall back against his pillow so that he could focus on the ceiling.

“Morning, mum,” he casually began.

“I want both of you downstairs in three minutes,” she sternly replied. He could tell just by her tone that she had her hands on her hips. “Three minutes. And if you're not downstairs by that time, I think you can guess what will happen. Then, of course, I shudder to think of what your father will have to say...”

The footsteps that followed indicated her departure. Chris thought briefly and decided that he couldn't actually guess what would happen if they took too long to move downstairs, but his mother had been right; his father would probably be terrifically unhappy at being woken up too early on his day off.

“Jonny, can you hand me my glasses?”

His eyes still pointed at the ceiling, Chris felt the mattress fluctuate and then thick-rimmed frames were shoved into his hand. Hastily, he slid the glasses onto his face. When his vision was finally clear, he noticed that Jonny was staring at him and smiling. Chris almost let himself get distracted, until he realized that they had already used up most of the three minutes his mother had granted them.

He scrambled out of bed and bounded towards the door; halfway there, he spun around and held his hand out to Jonny, who was steadily making his way across the room. Once Jonny had grabbed Chris's hand, they walked downstairs together.

Though his mother had not specified where exactly in the breadth of 'downstairs' they were supposed to be, Chris hazarded a guess and led Jonny towards the living room. They sat on the couch and while at first the room was otherwise empty, Chris's mother showed up within thirty seconds of their arrival, Chris's father trailing behind her and wearing a thoroughly tired look. Chris thought he could have passed for a zombie of some sort.

“What is all this about, again?” he asked, drowsily.

“Well, Stephen, I think you should know what sort of thing your son gets up to late at night.”

Chris glanced at Jonny to find that the other boy was already giving him a knowing look. He turned back to his parents; his father was staring at them now, looking very confused indeed. After a few seconds, he lifted his arm and pointed to Jonny.

“Jonny, right?” Chris turned as Jonny, presently pale-faced, nodded. His father continued to stare. Then, what felt like ages later, a comprehensive expression fell across his face – a smile, even, Chris thought. “Ah. Chris!”

But his reply seemed to have been too enthusiastic to satisfy Chris's mother. “Stephen!” she hissed and, sure enough, her hands had found their way to her hips once more. “Chris has clearly decided that he can just sneak around us and do whatever he pleases, and you are condoning this behavior?”

“Well, clearly what's done is done,” Stephen replied with a quick wink in the boys' direction. Chris sank into his seat a bit, unsure whether or not this was good. His father didn't appear to be upset with him at all, which certainly was positive, but his reaction did make Chris feel a bit embarrassed. “And so I think little can be done in response-”

“Yes, but, Stephen, what if he tries something like this again?”

Chris's father laughed. “Really? Come on, honey,” he lowered his voice, “this is Chris we're talking about. There's nothing to worry over.”

Clearly not pleased – and probably feeling rather undermined – Chris's mother held up her hand and opened her mouth to reply, but decided against it at the last moment. She let her hand drop and turned to the boys.

“Chris, why don't you two go make some breakfast, all right?”

Chris was about to agree when he suddenly remembered Jonny's aversion to kitchens. He looked at Jonny apprehensively, but Jonny appeared rather confident and nodded his head. Without actually answering his mother, Chris stood up and brought Jonny into the kitchen.

“Jonny,” Chris began as he noticed a slight tremor in Jonny's hand while they were standing by the fridge, “if you don't want to be in here, I can tell my mum and-”

“No.” His voice shook as well, but he sounded certain of his decision. “No, I'm fine. I'll be fine.”

Chris said nothing in return, but he did reach out and grab Jonny's trembling hand. “So... I guess we should make breakfast, then. How does French toast sound to you?”

Jonny gave him a blank look. “Fr... what's that?”

Chris tilted his head and examined Jonny for a while. Then he smiled and proceeded to pull a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator.

Chris did most of the work preparing the food, since Jonny had no clue what to do. He didn't mind, though. Jonny helped by setting up the table with plates and utensils. Together they made a pretty decent team.

Every now and then they heard shouts from the other room. Even when his parents weren't yelling their words, Chris could still hear what they were saying to each other quite clearly. It wasn't as if he and Jonny were making enough noise in the kitchen to drown them out.

“Calm down. You're getting way too worked up-”

“I can't believe you.”

“All I'm saying is that Chris isn't the type of kid to be doing anything frequently enough for us to fret over it. Besides, did you see him? He's happy.”

“Stephen, I am thrilled that you're not overly angry about this, but this is actually even more ridiculous! I found them in bed together. Just because they are both boys does not mean that this can just blow over!”

“Does it bother you that your parents talk about you like that?” Chris jumped a bit at the sound of Jonny's voice. He quickly threw a glance over his shoulder, then returned his attention to the pan on the stove.

“It's true,” Chris replied. He pushed a piece of toast around the pan with the spatula. It didn't look quite ready to be flipped just yet.

“That doesn't mean it can't bother you.” Chris heard the sound of one of the chairs by the table moving ever so slightly across the floor. Then Jonny was beside him, leaning dangerously close. “We don't have to talk about it. I was just wondering.”

Chris looked at Jonny. “Why should I be bothered if it's true?” He bit his lip and looked down again. “Can you bring me one of those plates?” A few seconds later, Jonny was gone again.

In Jonny's brief absence, Chris tried to silently work out whether or not he actually did find his parents' comments about him distressing. He wasn't deflecting Jonny's question when he answered; Chris really did believe that if it was the truth, then he had no right to be upset. And his parents knew him well enough that anything they said about him would definitely be true.

He couldn't come to a definitive conclusion by the time Jonny returned to his side, though. He took the plate from Jonny, setting it on the counter beside the stove. Then he looked at Jonny and thought for another few seconds.

“It bothers me, but I don't want to let it.”

“Good for you. Besides, maybe it's not as true as you think it is.” Jonny playfully nudged Chris's arm. “You were the one who insisted I spend the night, anyway.”

“Yeah, but I wasn't the one who...”

Chris was fully prepared to finish his sentence, had it not been for the sudden arrival of his parents into the room. His father looked indifferent and his mother looked defeated; he could only guess how the argument had been settled.

“Who what?” Chris's mother asked, sounding livid. She looked as though she wasn't going to drop the subject, until she caught the look Stephen gave her. “Never mind.”

“We made French toast, mum,” Chris brightly told her, sliding the last piece onto a plate and bringing it over to the table. He placed the plate in the middle so that it could be reached from all sides. Chris took a seat, Jonny following and occupying the chair beside him, then went ahead and grabbed two slices for himself.

“It looks good, Chris,” his father speculated. “Maybe we should make you cook more often, eh?”

“Well,” Chris began with a shrug, “then you're going to get either a lot of French toast or a burned-down house.”

Stephen laughed heartily, though when Chris caught a glimpse of his mother he noticed her eyes were wide as if she were truly considering the consequences of forcing (or even letting, for that matter) Chris to prepare meals more often. Then he felt Jonny's hand gently and briefly squeeze his knee, and though he had not been aware of any negative emotions he may have had, he suddenly felt better.

He threw a quick smile at Jonny. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father lean towards his mother and whisper, “See?” and his mother merely nodded.

It was remarkable, really, that the breakfast then went on without a single bitter remark or nasty glare. It was also worth noting that neither of Chris's parents realized that Jonny had worn Chris's clothes, a set of pajamas which Chris himself frequently wore around the house. Chris shrugged and was glad no one saw it.

When breakfast was finished, Chris and Jonny returned upstairs to change into regular clothes. His mother stood in the doorway of the living room as the two boys climbed the stairs, and he caught a glimpse of the disapproving look she threw their way. Though normally he hated to disappoint his parents or to even think that he had disappointed his parents, Chris felt nothing but happiness right now.

“Want to go for a walk around town?” Chris asked as he pulled a clean shirt over his head. After sliding his arms through the sleeves, he turned to look at Jonny, who was changing on the opposite side of the room.

“Yeah, sure.” Having already changed his clothes, Jonny sat down at the end of Chris’s bed. “It’s kind of weird to think this, but, uh… well, like, right now I’m glad in a way that my parents aren’t alive.”

“That is kind of weird,” Chris agreed. He watched Jonny closely, trying to analyze why Jonny might have said something like that at such a time. Jonny stared back at him, obviously trying to find a way to explain his thoughts.

“It makes it easier, you know, that I don’t have to worry about them finding out.” Chris pulled at the hem of his shirt to fix the fabric as he walked over to where Jonny sat. “And I don’t just mean about us, but, like… well, anyway, it’s just a bit easier this way, I think.”

“Oh.”

Chris stood awkwardly for a few moments before holding his hand out to Jonny. Jonny smiled as he took Chris's hand and stood up. They walked downstairs once more to find that Chris's mother stood in the exact position she was in when they left. Chris stopped in front of her, Jonny beside him.

“Jonny and I are going for a walk.”

Chris's mother said nothing for a while. She stared right into Chris's eyes with an almost blank expression. “Christopher,” she said, “I just hope you understand why what you did was wrong.”

Chris intended to reply, but before he was able to a shout broke out from the other room. “Get over it already!” Stephen yelled. Chris's mother turned around, fuming, and left the two boys. Chris took this as their cue to leave.

“Do they fight like that a lot?” Jonny asked as he and Chris stepped off of the porch stairs. Chris shook his head. “Sorry.”

Chris shrugged off the apology. If anything, he felt he was more at fault than Jonny for the whole situation. He laced his fingers with Jonny's and scrunched his nose. “Did your parents fight a lot?”

“I – uh, I don't really remember.” Jonny scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. “You know, since I was so young.”

Chris thought that Jonny sounded like he wasn't telling the truth, but he didn't want to press the issue any further. No matter how Jonny acted when they talked about his parents, Chris always felt like it was a touchy subject, and rightly so.

They walked around town for a while along their usual route. As they passed by one of the stores, they saw the shop owner arranging a sign just outside the door. Chris absentmindedly looked over, and he noticed that Jonny was ducking his head as if he were trying to hide. Chris chose not to say anything until they were past the store.

“Jonny, why were you trying to hide?” Jonny gave him a confused look, though Chris thought it looked a bit fake. “When we went past that store. You didn't want that guy to see you.”

“Oh, yeah. I don't think that guy likes me very much,” Jonny said.

“Why not?”

“Well, I might have lifted a few things while he wasn't looking and I think he's suspicious.” Chris drew his eyebrows together; Jonny said all of this with such a casual tone that Chris didn't quite understand. His parents had always taught him that stealing was wrong. Didn't Jonny think so, too?

Then again, Chris's parents had always told him that smoking was also bad, and Jonny did that. In fact, Jonny had done a lot of things in the (sometimes recent) past that would be considered perverse. Now that Chris thought about it, he did recall Jonny's answer weeks before when Chris asked where he had obtained the pink spray paint (which still laid bright against the brick across from Chris's house):

“Nicked it from one of the shops.”

So, maybe Jonny didn't think it was so wrong after all. But Chris was left with an unpleasant feeling in his stomach, even long after they finished their walk and returned to the alleyway.

Jonny had one of the books Chris had lent him in his lap, prepared to start reading. He glanced up at Chris first, though; Chris's odd mood must have been apparent, because Jonny looked at him with something like concern and asked, “What's wrong?”

“Well, I was just thinking,” Chris started, eyebrows squished, “about what you said earlier. That you stole things from that shop.”

Jonny winced, but said nothing. This convinced Chris that Jonny did think it was wrong – but that knowledge wasn't necessarily going to stop him from stealing. What would stop him? Chris felt certain that the unpleasant feeling he experienced could be washed away if he knew that Jonny would not repeat these actions in the future.

Jonny's eyes remained on Chris. Chris figured Jonny was waiting for him to continue his thoughts. He made a quick decision and took a deep breath. “Jonny, will you promise me something?”

“Sure.”

Chris felt a wave of happiness at the thought of Jonny willing to make him a promise without knowing what the promise was. He only hoped that Jonny would keep the promise.

“Promise me that you'll stop doing things like that,” he said.

“Promise that I'll stop stealing?” Jonny replied, a look of guilt across his visage.

Chris tilted his head. A promise to cease theft was a good start, but Chris couldn't help thinking back on the days when he and Jonny first met, before they even knew the other's name. It was weird now to think that this boy in front of him used to torment him and make him absolutely miserable. But it did happen, and Chris felt sure that some of Jonny's actions toward Chris back then had been influenced by his friends. Still, even though Jonny was more than nice to Chris now, it didn't exactly erase the experience. Chris didn't want anyone else to feel that way, the wretched way he had felt months ago – at least, not because of Jonny.

“Not just that,” Chris said. “Promise me you'll stop stealing and... mugging people and calling them names and all of that other stuff.”

Jonny gave him a sad look, as if he knew what Chris had been thinking and why he had asked him to make such a promise. His hand slid from underneath the book he held and grabbed onto Chris's hand.

“I promise.”

Chris squeezed his fingers around Jonny's palm and smiled. The discomfort he had felt melted away in an instant and he felt no need to dwell any longer on thoughts of Jonny's criminal past. He scooted a little closer to Jonny and the other boy began to read from the book.

But Jonny's promise didn't last. For several weeks, he managed to do just fine without partaking in any criminal activity. At least, Chris was never aware of any wrongdoing Jonny may have done. He wholeheartedly believed that the green-eyed boy was capable of putting that behavior behind him and that he had dedicated himself to a life of goodness. After all, why would Jonny lie about something like that?

The boys spent their time as they always did: Jonny walked Chris to school in the morning; he did whatever it was he did while Chris was at school; then, once Chris came home, the two spent as much of the evening as possible together, reading or sometimes just talking about little things. Jonny seemed to like to hear Chris talk about his day, though Chris never thought any of it sounded interesting.

On weekends, they walked around town during the morning hours. Occasionally, Chris's mother would give him money, and they would stop at one of the restaurants in town for lunch. They went to the same restaurant each time, a small building filled with rather kind and friendly employees; even though the two boys had only eaten there a handful of times, it seemed as though the entire staff had remembered them. Chris thought maybe it was just in their job description.

The rest of the weekends were spent in the alley, where Chris continued to teach Jonny to read. Jonny had progressed so far with his reading skills that Chris decided to test him with papers that he had received in school, mostly useless fliers that had been handed to him while he walked to his classes. A lot of events were held at his school, and the people who organized the events seemed to love using brightly-colored pieces of paper as advertisements. On more than on occasion he thought about decoration the walls of his room with the fliers. It might look like he lived in a neon rainbow.

For the most part, Jonny could read everything that Chris gave him. He had little faith in himself, though, which saddened Chris. He knew that Jonny had achieved a lot in their time together, and that Jonny was even better at reading than some of the kids Chris went to school with, but Jonny couldn't see it for himself, so it made little difference. Chris tried to tell Jonny how well he was doing, but he had a feeling that Jonny just ignored it because Chris was biased.

Sometimes Jonny met Chris on campus after school. They would greet each other (trying to be as discreet as possible, for Jonny was still not a fan of having other people watch while he kissed his boyfriend), and then they would walk back to the alley, back to Chris's house.

Other days, Jonny did not meet Chris at the school. Most of the time, his absence was due to lateness – he liked to occasionally take naps in the afternoon, and every so often he would sleep for longer than planned – and on those days, Chris would run into him on the way back home.

Therefore, when Chris walked out of the building one Friday afternoon and scanned the crowd, he was not worried that he didn't see Jonny's face. He just continued walking through the groups of students, and then onto the sidewalk.

Of course, while he may not have been worried, he was disappointed. Not surprisingly, he liked it more when Jonny was there to walk home with him. On days like this, he kept his eyes forward, waiting for the moment when he would see Jonny walking down the road toward him. On this particular day, though, Chris made it more than halfway to his house without seeing Jonny – in fact, he had made it roughly three-quarters of the way without seeing him when he started to worry. He tried not to panic, though. He told himself that it was very likely Jonny had slept even later than usual, and may even still be asleep by the time he arrived at the alley. There was no real need to worry.

He thought he heard shouting in the distance. It sounded like someone barking orders at someone else. He tried to remember if there might have been any construction work in progress on any of the nearby streets. He knew how those builders liked to make themselves heard over the roaring of their machinery, and how they often forgot how to use a quieter tone when the machinery was off.

There was no such work being done, though, and as Chris drew closer to the alley, the shouting grew louder. He could only make out bits and pieces, certain words like, “money” and “wallet.” For some reason, his pulse quickened as he walked on, anxiety festering in the pit of his stomach. Something was very wrong.

He spotted Jonny's large jacket long before he even set foot in the alleyway. He felt only a tiny bit of relief at seeing that Jonny was perfectly fine; presently, Jonny stood in the middle of his two friends. They crowded around the side of the building. One of them was talking (not shouting – clearly, one of the others had done the shouting). Not one of the three noticed when Chris walked up behind them.

Chris did find, though, that at least one person saw him. There was a young man (though he looked older than all of them) caught in the half-circle created by the three boys and the building. Across his visage was a petrified expression, until he caught sight of Chris. The moment his eyes connected with Chris's, his face immediately fell in relief.

Jonny must have observed the change in the man's face; he slowly turned to see what the man was staring at. Chris glared at Jonny, who immediately realized that he was in trouble. Jonny gaped, and Chris figured that much like himself, Jonny suddenly found himself speechless. Chris thought for a while about saying something, but he eventually decided that silence would pierce deeper. He walked away.

As he approached the front porch of his house, he could sense Jonny stalking behind him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to give Jonny a chance to explain himself, but he knew he needed to at least sit down. All of his limbs were trembling and he felt like he could fall over, collapse into a pile on the ground, at any second.

He took a seat at the top of the porch stairs and found that his suspicion had been correct; Jonny now stood at the bottom of the steps, looking like he wanted to move further, but was waiting for something, perhaps an invitation. Chris continued to stare, wordlessly.

Jonny's red-headed friend called to him a few times, but the green-eyed boy ignored the shouts. He seemed to have found whatever it was he had looked for in Chris, and he began to cautiously advance. Chris tried not to react, other than to watch as Jonny climbed the steps and sat beside him. They exchanged blank expressions for a long while.

Chris finally cracked. “You promised me,” he said and his voice broke, just as fractured as he felt. “Jonny, you promised. And I believed you.”

Jonny gave an apologetic look, but said nothing. He merely nodded in response. Chris sighed.

“I don't know if I can forgive you.” Suddenly, he was overcome with a wave of tears, which quickly flooded his eyes and fought their way down his face. Jonny's expression became even more pained; he looked like he was fighting the urge to move, to comfort Chris in some way.

After a moment of thought, Jonny nodded again. “I can't make it up to you. Chris, I'm not as strong as you are.”

Chris laughed. It was short, and full of anger, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “I don't feel very strong right now.” Weakly, he pushed up his glasses, and then folded his arms across his stomach, his shoulders hunching a little in the process.

Jonny smirked momentarily, and then rolled his eyes. “You're... sensitive, yeah. But you don't let people walk all over you. You stand up for yourself when you need to. When you should.” Jonny fidgeted, shifting between scooting closer to Chris and scooting further away. Ultimately, he ended up in the same spot as before. “I can't handle peer pressure. I just give in.”

“You're better than that,” Chris told him, though really he had wanted to say, “You're better than them.” He moved his arms and clasped his hands in his lap. Jonny shrugged.

“Am I?” He glanced over at his friends, who seemed to have moved on without him. Then he turned his gaze to the bottom of the stairs. “All my life, I've been surrounded by this. Stealing and people getting beaten and mugged and everything else that I know isn't right. Even when my parents were alive... they weren't good people.”

“Well, you just said it yourself. You know it's not right.”

Jonny looked at him. “Doesn't that make it worse?”

Chris struggled to find a suitable response. He was still mad at Jonny, sure. He wanted Jonny to realize that he wasn't a bad person, that he could actually uphold a crime-free life, but Jonny seemed impossible to convince. When, seconds later, Chris felt another swell of oncoming tears, he stared at his hands and wished for a way to make everything better. He could think of nothing.

“I think we might be moving again,” he finally said in a low voice. Might as well bring out all of the bad news at once. He could feel Jonny's eyes on him, urging him to go on. “My parents have been sort of distant lately. At first I thought maybe they were both having affairs, but no. It's what they always do just before they tell me we have to leave. It's not such a surprise. We never stay anywhere for more than a few months.”

He heard Jonny exhale a heavy sigh. “I suppose it's for the best.” When Chris looked up at him questioningly, he continued, solemnly, “I only ever seem to hurt you.”

Chris shook his head, but he didn't have the strength to speak. Like before, he figured that actions spoke louder than words, anyway. He grabbed Jonny's hand, lacing their fingers together. Jonny held on tightly, and Chris noticed that he seemed to have completely forgotten about his friends.

“I have an idea,” Chris said. “I'm not sure if it will work, but I'll ask my parents tonight. And then I'll tell you tomorrow.”

“Don't forgive me.” Chris stared at Jonny for a while. He couldn't fully comprehend why Jonny would say this, yet some small part of him understood. He shook his head.

“I have to.”

“No, you don't.” Jonny spoke in a low voice. There was some hint of desperation in his words, but his tone was nothing short of commanding. “Like you said, I promised you. And I broke that promise. You can't forgive me. If anything, you should hate me.”

Chris knew exactly what Jonny wanted him to say – not that it had been difficult to guess – but he felt oddly compelled to speak nothing but the truth. “But I don't. I am still upset, but I know it isn't easy for you–”

“I'm sure it's not that easy for you, either, but you seem to be doing just fine.”

This bantering was going nowhere, Chris knew. He had no shot of convincing Jonny, and Jonny had no chance of changing Chris's mind either. He felt tired now, though not as hurt as he had before they had talked. He just felt worn out – nothing an afternoon of resting wouldn't fix.

Chris let go of Jonny's hand, instead wrapping his arms around the other boy. As his chin rested on Jonny's shoulders, he quietly said, “I'm going to go inside for the rest of the day. But I'll come see you tomorrow morning.”

Jonny's hands rested over Chris's shoulder blades, and Chris noticed that Jonny was shaking a little. “Chris...”

Somehow, in that one utterance, Jonny had managed to jam-pack a handful of emotions; Chris thought he heard a combination of fear, irritation, urgency, revulsion and relief. It seemed like an odd sequence, but each made sense in its own way. Chris just held on tighter, until Jonny's hands were steady once more and he decided it was time to actually do what he said he would and return to the indoors.

That night, as he and his parents sat in the living room after dinner, Chris brought up the subject of moving. His parents confirmed, though reluctantly, that his father was in fact being transferred once again, and that they would be leaving in two weeks.

Chris then asked if they could bring Jonny along as well. It was difficult, though, as Chris tried to convince his parents it was a good idea without actually giving away any of the details about Jonny's living situation. He feared that if they really knew about Jonny, they would try to call someone official, and then Jonny would definitely be taken away from him – maybe even sent to jail.

Therefore, Chris had no usable argument in response to his mother's question, “What about Jonny's parents? You think they wouldn't care about giving up their son like that?”

He sighed and sank into his seat. He couldn't win.

Later, while he lie in bed trying to sleep, he thought about asking Jonny to hide in the moving van. He could ride in there to the new house, and surely there would be somewhere nearby that he could stay, just as he had stayed in the alley. Chris's parents would never have to know.

But somehow that plan didn't seem feasible. Chris couldn't think of a way of getting Jonny into and out of the van without his parents noticing. And he couldn't ask Jonny to leave this place, the streets and friends he'd known for more than ten years, just to move to another place where he would have no real home. It didn't seem right, even if it meant they could stay together.

Chris opted not to tell Jonny about the failure of his plan when they talked the following morning. Though there seemed to be no options remaining, he still had a tiny bit of hope left that somehow he would figure a way to make it work; he would find a way to hold on to Jonny. Until then, he thought it unnecessary to inform Jonny of the situation.

Jonny never brought it up, either. He seemed just as overwrought as he had been the previous afternoon when Chris walked into the alley and greeted him, yet the conversation kept a safe distance from the topic. After a while, Chris started to forget, to feel as if none of the day before had even happened, which he was glad for.

Instead of reading, Jonny chose to practice writing. Chris dictated short sentences for him to copy down. They mostly consisted of four or five simple words, and hardly used any verbs other than “to be.” Chris didn't want to make it too difficult for Jonny, but he must have underestimated Jonny's writing abilities, because Jonny eventually started writing sentences of his own accord.

The first sentence Jonny wrote on his own said, “Chris is bad at making up things for me to write,” which was soon followed by several others:

“Even I could write better lines.”

“They must not teach much at that school of his.”

“If he stayed with me all day I could teach him more.”

“Really he is terrible at this.”

“But I still love him anyway.”

Chris tried to look offended, but the last line Jonny had written made him feel too giddy, and he couldn't actually do anything but bite down on his bottom lip in an attempt to hold back a cheesy grin.

“Well, fine, then I guess I'll just go home,” he said, his voice conveying the mock-upset far better than his expression. He even went as far as standing up, brushing off bits of dirt from his hands. He would have stepped forward, too, if it hadn't been for the pair of arms which encircled his legs moments later.

“No, don't leave,” Jonny lazily protested, “I take it back.”

Chris stared down at Jonny, pushing his glasses against the bridge of his nose to prevent them from sliding off and potentially hitting Jonny in the face. “Oh, yeah?”

Jonny glared right back at him with mischievous eyes. “All of it, but the last part.”

Chris fought once more to stifle a smile. Ultimately, he lost the battle; he smiled so widely in response that his nose scrunched up and he was able to let go of his glasses without fearing they would fall off. Jonny looked as if he had just witnessed a star-burst right in front of his eyes.

“I'd sit back down, but you've still got my legs,” he told Jonny, who seemed to snap out of the trance he was in. He retracted his arms and sat back against the wall as Chris reclaimed his seat. The pen and paper rested on the ground by Jonny's feet, but the green-eyed boy didn't move. He just kept his eyes on Chris, looking as though he was afraid of ruining the moment by performing even the tiniest action.

Since Jonny made no attempt to grab the paper, Chris leaned over and took it for himself. He quickly scrawled on the surface, “I could write sentences far more complicated than you ever could, dear Jonny, but I will forgive you, because I also love you. And I know how to use grammar properly as well, which is something that they taught me in, 'that school of [mine].' Well... 'those schools.'”

Chris winced a bit, as the thought reminded him that he would soon once again be thrust into the bustling halls of a school entirely new to him, one whose social circles and cliques were sure to have already been long established. He would have to try (and fail) again to make new friends, and his parents would no doubt be disappointed by his lack of success.

Normally, Chris wouldn't have minded so much. Over the years, he had grown used to being alone, had become accustomed to having no friends. If everything had stayed the same, he would have been fine with moving – but, of course, this time he made a friend. This time, he met someone who meant more to him than he ever thought possible. Sitting in the alley with Jonny presently and thinking about what he would have to leave behind almost made him wish that their relationship had just remained a mugger-muggee one.

Then it wouldn't hurt so much.

Chris talked as he and Jonny journeyed to the alleyway from the school. He had been talking for most of the trip, but Jonny honestly couldn't pay attention to a word he said. Sure, Jonny listened, but he focused more on the sound of Chris's voice rather than the meaning of his words. Besides, Chris most likely spoke only about his day at school, and rarely did those stories ever differ.

Jonny felt like he had a hard time concentrating on a lot of things lately – ever since the fight he and Chris had. He was acutely aware of the fact that Chris would be moving within a relatively short amount of time. Chris had never specified a date, but it had already been an entire week, and Jonny didn't think that much time remained.

He tried to enjoy his time left with Chris as much as possible, despite his wandering mind. But no matter what, he couldn't help thinking – as selfish as it may have sounded – of just how much his life sucked. Though he had not made many acquaintances in his lifetime, those people he had known had all abandoned him at one point. First his parents, then his friends, and soon Chris would join the ranks among those who had left Jonny to himself.

Jonny almost hated Chris at the moment – or, at least, he wanted to. Hating Chris would make it so much easier to let him go. Jonny had warned himself, had seen the danger long ago, way back when Chris had spent the day at his aunt's house. Jonny realized then that he was becoming too attached to Chris, and that he needed to stop it. But it was already too late at that point. He had already fallen in love.

Although Jonny had been through this sort of thing before, he felt worse now than he ever had, and not because he was in love with Chris (though he was). With his parents and his friends, he had never received any sort of explanation, any sort of reason for their sudden disappearances. To make up for the lack, he blamed himself, despite what the truth may have actually been. It was the only way for him to make sense of what had happened.

But such was not the case with Chris. Jonny had done wrong plenty of times in the past few months. He had made greater mistakes than he ever could have imagined. Following this logic, he should have been the reason for Chris's departure. His terrible actions should have been the ones pushing Chris away, but, oddly, they weren't. For all the errors he had made, Chris still loved Jonny, still wanted to be with him. Something else was ripping Chris away; a greater force which neither of them could control. Somehow, that made it even worse. Jonny felt lost and completely hopeless.

Suddenly, Chris stopped talking. Jonny soon realized that it was because they had reached Chris's house. They now stood facing each other at the bottom of the porch steps, and Jonny forced himself back to reality as Chris opened his mouth to speak once more.

“I'll be right back. And I have something for you...” Jonny might have made a suggestive comment, were it not for the nervous look on Chris's face. Instead, he just gave the other boy a quizzical look. “Just wait here, OK?”

Jonny nodded; what else would he do? While he waited, he sat on the bottommost step and dwelt further on his misfortunes. He wanted to stop feeling so miserable, but he just couldn't shut his mind down.

It was only a few minutes before Chris returned. Chris made his way down the stairs and went to sit down as Jonny stood up. Jonny caught sight of Chris changing his movement mid-step and consequently trying to keep his balance as he stepped on the ground in front of Jonny. He tried not to laugh, even though Chris's awkwardness never ceased to amuse him.

As he suppressed laughter, Jonny noticed that Chris held a large manila envelope in his arms. Jonny could feel those giant blue eyes boring through him. He was suddenly overcome by what seemed to be the sadness which poured out of every one of Chris's orifices. For a while, they stayed completely silent, only conversing with their eyes.

Then, as if he abruptly remembered the envelope, Chris jolted and offered the pocket to Jonny. Cautiously, Jonny pulled it away. He stared down at the flap, both curious and afraid to know what it held inside. Chris didn't seem like he would start talking until Jonny opened the package, so that's exactly what the green-eyed boy did. He slipped his hand inside and felt a bundle of papers, but they felt different from loose-leaf and even computer paper. They felt, as odd as it may have sounded, glossy.

Sure enough, Jonny removed the papers completely to find that they were bound together to form a comic book. He had never seen this particular issue before, but he recognized the characters and the title on the front. He felt more like he held a bar of gold in his hands than just a collection of paper.

Jonny looked up at Chris, who must have known exactly what Jonny was thinking, because he said, “It's my favorite one. But I want you to have it... I don't want to leave without you having something to remember me by. Even if you won't forget me without it.”

Jonny gazed at the book again. He knew it was ridiculous that something like this could render him speechless, but he also knew that it meant so much more than what appeared on the surface. Chris was giving Jonny a piece of himself, essentially, and Jonny searched his brain trying to think of something to give him in return.

He held his hand up to Chris and muttered, “Wait.” Chris nodded. Jonny stuffed the comic book into the envelope and ran to the alley. From under one of the discarded bags in the corner he removed a thin book and set the package from Chris into its place. Then he ran back.

Chris looked just as weighed down as Jonny had when he had been given the book. In fact, he looked even worse than Jonny had felt. The book was the same one Jonny had started teaching himself to read from. As Chris stared at the cover, Jonny could see tears forming in his eyes. His chest ached at the sight.

“Jonny,” Chris began in a broken voice. The water started dripping down his cheeks; one drop actually managed to splash onto the book's cover. Chris held the book against his stomach and looked up at Jonny.

“Please don't cry,” Jonny said, but he too sounded feeble. He watched as Chris closed his eyes, perhaps in an attempt to cut off the flow of tears. When he opened his eyes again, he set the book down on the porch steps and stood as close to Jonny as possible without actually touching him.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, then he threw himself forward and buried his head in Jonny's shoulder. Jonny put his arms around Chris's back.

“For what?”

“I couldn't tell you before,” Chris said, though his voice was muffled by both Jonny's shoulder and his own crying. “We're leaving tomorrow. I should have told you earlier, but I just – I couldn't.”

Jonny tightened his grip. “It's OK,” he quietly said, and he thought it was true. He thought it was probably better that he hadn't known sooner. Knowing might have only made him feel even worse, if possible.

“I knew I should have told you, but it was like every time I tried, I couldn't say it.”

“Chris, it's OK.” He shoved his nose into Chris's hair for a few brief moments; then he brought his hand up to cup the side of Chris's face. When Chris looked up at him, he brought their lips together. He could taste the saltiness of the tears which had fallen past Chris's mouth and Chris's braces scraped against his teeth as they usually did. It occurred to him that this would be one of the last times it would happen.

As they broke apart, Jonny noticed that Chris looked a little bit cheerier. He cheeks had started to dry and the corners of his lips turned upward ever so slightly. His glasses slid halfway down his nose, so Jonny pushed them up. Chris smiled for real this time, and shrugged his shoulders.

“At least I don't have any homework to do tonight,” he said. Jonny smiled, too. “We can spend the whole afternoon together. And the evening, and maybe some of the night. But I'm not sure how early we're leaving. I guess it depends on how long it takes to load the van.”

“Well, then.” Jonny's smile faltered just a bit. He swallowed in an attempt to coat his dry throat. “Let's make the most of the time we have left, right?”

Chris nodded, and they kissed again. They headed to the alley, where they sat and talked for a few hours. After Chris came back from eating dinner, they walked around town.

As the evening went on, Jonny felt an increasing sense of anxiety crushing him from the inside. He managed to keep his thoughts away from the fact that within twenty-four hours he would be completely alone, but the feeling still consumed him. He was sure that Chris felt it, too, and he could see the sadness in the other boy's eyes, even if Chris had done a great job of hiding it.

They laughed as often as they could, mostly at rather inappropriate times. Chris laughed whenever Jonny made a (generally cruel) comment about one of their fellow pedestrians, an act which Jonny felt certain Chris would not have done under any other circumstances. Then again, Jonny probably wouldn't have made the comments under different circumstances, either.

When they saw a tiny mouse scamper down the road in an attempt to escape the claws of a tawny cat, they laughed. When they saw a little girl crying over a glob of ice cream she had dropped on the ground, they laughed. When the little girl's mother glared at them as if they were laughing at a funeral, they laughed.

They spent another hour sitting on Chris's porch steps, scanning the wood for random patterns and pictures. Mostly they just found a bunch of lines, but in searching they were able to continue laughing. Chris took his glasses off several times to see if any of the lines formed shapes when blurred together, but he was just as unsuccessful as he had been with his glasses on.

The last time Chris removed his glasses and stared at the porch, Jonny took the opportunity to snatch the frames and slide them onto his own face. It was strange to look around with them on; it looked like some sort of bubble surrounded the entire world, and Jonny actually felt a little dizzy after a few seconds.

“Wow, you are really blind,” he said. He lifted his hand in front of his eyes, and realized almost instantly that it was not a good idea. He decided that he would take the glasses off in order to prevent himself from vomiting, but before he was able to, he and Chris were interrupted by the front door opening.

Chris's mother stepped onto the porch, but immediately froze. “Oh, there you are.” Chris turned to face his mother, though Jonny felt certain that she would be nothing more than a colorful blob in Chris's vision, which is also how she appeared to Jonny. “Chris, it's eleven o'clock.”

She said nothing else, but Chris didn't need to hear more. And, based on Chris's response of, “Oh,” Jonny guessed the rest of the conversation as well.

Chris turned back to Jonny, squinting a little, and he pulled the glasses off of Jonny's face. Jonny felt a little relieved, since his vision had now returned to normal and he felt much less dizzy. Glasses still in hand, Chris leaned forward and kissed Jonny.

Chris slipped the frames on again and said, in a quiet voice, “I'll see you in the morning.”

For a moment, Jonny felt the squeeze of anxiety again; it was so bad that he almost couldn't breath. It didn't last long, though, so Jonny was able to cough a bit and choke out, “Yeah. In the morning.”

Chris smiled sadly, leaned forward to wraps his arms around Jonny, and in the embrace they kissed another time. Jonny wasn't sure if Chris's mother had her eyes on them, but he didn't care, either. He tried to enjoy the moment without thinking about how soon it would be over – how soon everything would be over.

He thought about sitting on the porch for a while after Chris went inside, but he decided that it might seem a little creepy. Instead, he stood up and trudged toward the alley. He figured he may as well try to get some sleep, though he knew that he would be unsuccessful and that any sleep he did get would be no help. He felt so tired.

The night hours dragged on. It felt like a century before the sun even rose again. Then it was a while before he saw a figure walking down the alley, rushing toward him.

He sat up as Chris approached, though he stopped himself from standing when he noticed that Chris was in the process of sitting beside him. After Chris sat, he rested his head on Jonny's shoulder. Jonny could tell without even looking at Chris that the other boy had gotten just as much sleep as he had.

“What time is it?” Jonny asked, mostly just to break the silence.

“About six-thirty,” Chris answered, his voice quiet and his words slurred from fatigue. “My parents are still sleeping, but I couldn't, so I figured I would come out here and see if you were awake, too. Which you are.”

Chris lifted his head at this point. His eyelids were drooping, and Jonny imagined that his probably were as well. “I've been awake since yesterday morning.”

Chris laughed lightly. “Me too.” Jonny let his head drop forward so that their foreheads touched. Chris leaned in further until their noses pressed together. Silence fell over the two for a long time. The only sounds to be heard were the sounds of their breathing, and the occasional rustle of clothing as Jonny ran his fingers up and down Chris's arm.

Several hours later, Chris's parents came searching for him. They must have known where he was, though, because as his mother called his name while standing at the alley's opening, she didn't sound too worried. His father backed the moving van into the alleyway to make it easier to carry and load in the boxes.

Jonny volunteered to help them pack the truck. He never considered that by assisting them he was essentially speeding up their departure; he just wanted to spend more time with Chris. Besides, the two boys dawdled enough to make up for the difference, and in the end Jonny's aid may have actually prevented the family from leaving sooner.

Finally, though, the devastating moment came when Stephen walked out of the house and announced that no more boxes remained. Jonny felt the water rush to his eyes even before his chest tightened. He looked to Chris and saw that the other boy seemed oddly calm, especially considering the slight breakdown he had endured the day before.

Chris simply turned and took a step toward Jonny. His parents walked toward the front of the van, giving the boys a moment alone. Jonny wished they hadn't. At least with Chris's parents there, Jonny could have pulled himself together for a while; he saw no reason to do so around Chris, and it was because of this that as Chris wrapped his arms around Jonny, the green-eyed boy sobbed, something he had not done in a longer time than he could remember.

Chris remained composed, though; Jonny could feel the desperation in Chris's embrace, but when Chris pulled back to face Jonny, there was no trace of such emotion in his face. His hand was a little shaky as he brought it up to Jonny's cheek, much in the same way Jonny had done to Chris the previous afternoon.

Chris licked his lips and took a deep breath, but it felt like forever before he actually spoke. “This isn't goodbye, right? It's like... see you later.”

Jonny wanted to respond and tell Chris that it certainly didn't feel like 'see you later,' but he couldn't find the strength to speak. He sniffed a little.

“Because it could be, right?” Chris continued. He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself as well as Jonny. He shrugged slightly. “The world is a big place... but England's pretty small.”

Jonny found himself laughing, even though he didn't think he could in a situation like this. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Right. I'll see you later.”

Chris beamed, which Jonny both detested and felt glad for. He leaned forward to kiss Jonny, and the two boys were very reluctant to pull away. When they did break apart, though, Chris still smiled. He reached down and grabbed both of Jonny's hands in his own. “See you later, Jonny.”

He gave Jonny's hands a squeeze, and Jonny saw Chris's lips tremble just before he separated and left for the van. Jonny stood still and watched as the three Martins slid into the van, started the vehicle, and drove away. When he could no longer see the van in the distance, he turned to face the closed door of the house.

More tears dripped from his eyes as he stumbled forward and collapsed onto the porch stairs. He brought his knees as close to his chest as he could and buried his head in the space between his knees. He sat like that until the sun set and all that surrounded him was darkness.

NINETEEN YEARS LATER

He stood in the check-out line behind a woman with far too many children. He couldn't understand how one tiny woman could keep track of and care for six little, possibly sugar-high, human beings running around her and screaming, “Mommy, can I have...? Mommy, I want... Mommy, I need... !” He almost felt a headache coming on just from the few minutes he spent near them.

And he almost didn't realize when they had left and it was his turn to stand in front of the cashier. He set his few items on the counter and then looked around at the junk which was displayed in front of the register while he waited for the cashier to get him his change. He never bought into (he almost snorted with laughter) the idea of impulse buying at the check-out; sure, he felt tempted every now and then to buy candy and other goods which he did not need, but he never gave in to the temptation.

“Sir,” the cashier said, and he realized that this man had been trying to get his attention for a while now. The cashier held his change out along with a plastic bag which contained his purchases.

“Oh.” He took the change and the bag, and thanked the cashier. He almost ran into the teenage boy behind him, but was luckily quick enough to duck before any collision could occur.

By this point, the thick-rimmed glasses he wore had slid down his nose. Finding himself devoid of a hand to use to push them up, he scrunched his nose and used his elbow to open the door of the shop.

It was a cool spring day outside, but warm enough for the people of the town to be out and about. The streets and sidewalks were not as crowded as they would be in a city, but they were still bustling with people. He didn't know any of the pedestrians he passed, but he still greeted most of them anyway. He liked being polite, as dorky as he knew it sounded.

A bench placed just outside of one of the doors caught his eye – rather, a man sitting on the bench caught his eye. But even then, he only noticed the man, because of what the man held in his hands. Otherwise he never would have even looked twice.

The man sitting on the bench had a comic book in his hands, so immersed in reading that the book actually hid the man's face. He immediately recognized the book, though, and he almost dropped his bag out of shock. It was bad enough that he had stopped walking so abruptly, because a woman behind him pushing a baby in a stroller almost bumped into him. She made a comment about his rudeness as she swerved around him, but he wasn't paying attention. He was staring at the man with the comic book.

“Jonny?” he asked when he finally found his voice. Though the man had not really been moving before, he visibly froze. Slowly, the man lowered the book until dull green eyes were visible.

“Chris...”

Then Chris found his body as well, and he moved out of the way of the pedestrians, headed toward the bench. He sat down next to Jonny and wondered if he wasn't just hallucinating. Not that he had ever hallucinated before, or that he would have a reason to start now. It just seemed too good to be real.

“You don't look very different,” Chris said, in a mystified voice. “Just older.”

“I could say the same for you,” Jonny told him. “Except for the braces.”

“Oh.” Chris absentmindedly brought a hand up to his mouth. It had been so long since he had last worn braces that he had forgotten what it felt like and had almost forgotten that he ever wore them. Of course, he could still never keep his mouth shut for longer than a few seconds. “I tried wearing contacts once, too.”

“I'm guessing you didn't like them.”

“No, I remembered what you said about me wearing glasses. You were right. I felt like someone else with the contacts in.” Chris gave Jonny a goofy grin. “It was weird.”

Jonny laughed, and Chris marveled at how natural this felt. Being around Jonny again. He had suggested the last time they saw each other that they could always meet again in the future, but he had honestly never expected the day to come. Yet here they were, and even though so much time had passed, it felt like nothing at all.

“So, what brings you 'round here?” Jonny asked.

“Oh, I just had to get a few groceries,” Chris answered. He pushed up his glasses and realized that maybe Jonny hadn't meant to ask what he was doing here this particular moment, but rather in general. “But I live here now. I'm teaching at the elementary school a few blocks over.”

“You're teaching?” Jonny's tone had a hint of surprise as well as wonder. Chris figured that was a good thing.

“Well, you know those special classes they have for the kids who have problems with reading? I teach that.” Chris saw a faint smile dancing over Jonny's lips. “Not by myself, of course. There are two other teachers, and we do a lot of one-on-one stuff with the kids.”

“That's really cool,” Jonny quietly said. “My job isn't as glamorous. I just work at that cafe over there.” He pointed to a building right across the street from where they sat. “And I guess I haven't done as much good with my life as you have.”

“What have you done?”

“Well...” Jonny sighed, and Chris could tell that whatever he had to say was going to put a dark spin on their conversation. “I spent some time in jail... But I think it helped, actually. I was able to get help from some really nice people, and I'm seeing a therapist now.”

Chris felt like Jonny had more to say, but was waiting for Chris to respond first. “Well, that is good.”

“Yeah, I guess. I always knew I had a lot of problems, but I didn't know how to... fix them.” Jonny shrugged. Chris thought he seemed a little uncomfortable, yet also like he didn't want to stop telling Chris about it. “Talking about them doesn't really help by itself, but my therapist has taught me how to deal with them. Or, at least, how to start dealing with them.”

“I'm glad,” Chris told him. “I always thought you were too nice for the life you had.”

Jonny smiled, but Chris could tell that there was something bothering him. Something he still needed to talk about. Chris waited patiently, and a few moments later Jonny sucked in a deep breath.

“So, that's it, then? You're just a teacher. You're not a... father or husband or something?” Chris shook his head, and for some reason, Jonny looked genuinely surprised. “Really? I thought you'd have gotten married to some other nerdy teacher and had a bunch of little nerdy babies.”

Chris put on his goofy grin again. “But I'm asexual, remember?”

“Right,” Jonny laughed. “Well, Mr. Asexual, are you busy or can you spare an hour for lunch? It's on me.”

Chris briefly wondered if he should consider this an invitation for a date, then decided that it didn't matter either way. That could be determined later on. He shrugged. “I suppose I could make room in my busy schedule for a free lunch.”

Jonny smiled and stood up, shoving the comic book into his jacket. He held his hand out to Chris. “We can stop by your place first, so you can drop that stuff off.”

“OK.” Chris took Jonny's hand and rose from his seat. He made sure to grab his bag from the bench before he forgot. Chris realized that he had the answer to his previous musing without ever having asked the question, as the two then began to walk down the sidewalk, their hands still clasped.

The Water Boy

2011-08-01T09:25:00.002-04:00

Jonny pushed the creaky door open. The building had been abandoned many, many years ago; before that, it had been some sort of factory, maybe a brewery. But it was so long ago that Jonny wasn't even alive when it was last in use, at least commercially.

He spent most of his time in this building. It was a quiet place where he could escape from all of the people in the world and just be with his own thoughts in peace. His favorite spot to sit was in a room located on the second floor. There was a small window in the room – the only window in the entire building, in fact – which Jonny loved to sit by and look out of.

The view from the window was almost nonexistent. The land around the building mostly looked like a barren wasteland, but it wasn't the land he liked to look at anyway. Since most of the grass had died a long time ago, the long stretch of dirt was perfect for the neighborhood kids to play in. During the spring, when the dirt was actually mud, the little kids would build mud castles and sculpt mud pies. During the summer, the older kids dominated the field and used the space to hold baseball games.

These games were held almost every afternoon, as long as the sun was shining – and sometimes even when it wasn't. As long as there were no hurricanes or tornadoes, those boys were out there playing baseball. The teams almost always consisted of the same people. Sometimes a few of the boys were on vacation with their families, leaving one team slightly shorter than the other, and in those cases they would switch a few people over just to even the numbers.

Since the teams were mostly the same each game, the boys all had certain positions to play. The boy who pitched for the team which called itself The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune (The Arrows for short) also doubled as the team's captain. He had bright, blue eyes, thick, curly, cinnamon-brown hair, and a seemingly vast pool of knowledge regarding every single subject one could possibly know about. The team name, which was actually part of a quote from the play Hamlet, had been his idea. From what Jonny had gathered during months of watching these boys play the year before, this boy's name was Chris.

Chris had grown a few inches since the previous summer. He now stood taller than most of the other boys on his team and looked lankier than ever before. The ripped jeans he wore just barely hid his bony ankles. He was still rather pale, but after a few weeks in the summer sun his skin would brown.

Jonny eagerly climbed the steps to the second floor. Today was the date of the first baseball game of the summer. A few of the boys were already in the field, but when Jonny checked before entering the building, Chris had yet to arrive. He wanted to make sure that he had his position by the window set before Chris showed up.

Most of the boys were in the field when Jonny finally sat down. He scanned the crowd and almost instantly noticed Chris – not that he was hard to notice, of course. Chris knelt down at the pitcher's mound, decked out in a plain white t-shirt which made him look a little tanner than he actually was. Jonny liked this shirt on Chris. It was loose enough around the neck that Chris's collarbone showed, but it was tight enough in the back that the fabric clung to his shoulder blades, which Jonny could clearly see now as Chris hunched over.

Jonny knew it was superficial to be so fascinated by someone who he only knew on a physical level (not, of course, the physical level his teenage hormones would have liked,but a physical level nonetheless). He knew it was creepy to sit in the comfort of the abandoned building every afternoon and watch the boys play baseball until the sun went down with absolutely no intention of ever interacting with the boys in a normal way. Yet, despite what he knew, Jonny continued to make his way up to the second floor and to the window every day that the games went on.

The sun shone particularly bright on this day. Most of the boys were drenched in sweat before the game even began. It felt hotter in the building, Jonny thought. He opened the window to let some cool air in, though it was not as much help as he would have liked.

After half an hour of the game, the boys decided it was time to take a much needed break for water. Some of the boys who lived nearby ran to their houses to fill buckets of water from their garden hoses. In the meantime, the other boys sat down and waited. Some tried to find shade, but with the lack of trees, the task was impossible to accomplish.

Chris circled the pitcher's mound for a while. Jonny watched him, keeping his eyes on Chris's shoulder blades, then his collarbone, then his shoulder blades again as the tall boy turned, then his collarbone...

Chris stopped walking. He wiped some sweat off his forehead. Jonny was just enjoying the view of Chris's shoulder blades through the white t-shirt when suddenly the t-shirt wasn't there anymore and the shoulder blades were bare, covered only by pale skin. Chris discarded his t-shirt in the dirt by the side of the building. He stretched, and Jonny held his breath as Chris's head tilted back, his gaze pointed at the general direction of the window.

No no no no no, Jonny thought to himself, no no, don't look up here. Don't look up here, and put your shirt back on; you're killing me! No no no no no...

But it was too late.

“Hey!” Chris called. Jonny tried to sink down, but Chris was clearly talking to him and him alone; there was no way that Chris hadn't seen him. “What are you doing up there?”

“Just... just watching,” Jonny replied. He peeked out to see that Chris was squinting up at him.

“You should come down and play with us.”

“No thanks, I quite like it up here.”

“Well, what are you doing up there? You're just sitting and watching us?”

Not quite, Jonny thought, sinking in his seat, no, I wouldn't use the word 'us,' no.

“Yes.” A long silence followed, during which he wondered if Chris hadn't just decided to leave without saying anything else. But then, several moments later:

“Is it because of the shade? Is it cooler up there?”

“I think it might be hotter, actually,” Jonny yelled out the window. Chris made a sort of laughing noise.

“What? Why are you up there if it's hotter, then?” he asked. Jonny groaned a little. This was not the way he wanted his first conversation with Chris to go. “Come down here. Wouldn't want you to get overheated.”

“I'm fine, really.”

“It's hot enough down here, I would know. If it's hotter up there, you'll no doubt pass out. Just come down and at least get some water, all right?”

That almost sounded like... concern... Jonny peered outside once more. Chris had his hand over his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun, though he still had to squint. Jonny meant to answer, but was prevented by the fact that he hadn't actually made up his mind yet.

“We have people bringing buckets 'round. Just get some water so you don't pass out. Please?”

Jonny stared for a while at Chris's exposed chest, and decided that if he was going to make a fool of himself (which would certainly happen no matter what), he may as well make a fool of himself while standing a few feet away from a shirtless Chris.

“I'll be down in a minute.”

Chris flashed Jonny a wide grin. He went to grab something off of the ground at his feet, but Jonny didn't see what the object was. He backed away from the window and raced out of the building.

Before he could even make it out of the door, he heard someone shout, “Catch!” and was promptly hit by some flying object. The person who had shouted started laughing, and as Jonny tried to recover from the attack, he saw a figure with curly hair reach down for the object. It was a baseball glove.

“Yeah, OK, I wouldn't want you on my team anyway,” Chris said with a smile. “You can't even catch.”

“I couldn't catch even if I had been expecting it.”

“It's OK. Come on.” One of Chris's large hands found its way to Jonny's back, and he pushed Jonny along.

Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, Jonny thought, it wouldn't be good if you die before you have a conversation that's not weird. Although, if you pass out, maybe Chris knows CPR...

“Do you know CPR?” Jonny asked. He cringed a little as Chris laughed.

“Actually, my mum's making me take a class next month.”

As they walked back to the group of boys, Jonny noticed that the other boys had returned with the buckets of water, and carried several water bottles in addition.

“Chris!” someone shouted, and a water bottle flew through the air in Chris's direction. Luckily, Chris was much better at catching than Jonny, though it did require removing his hand from Jonny's back. Chris opened the bottle hastily and took a long sip. Jonny watched as some of the water missed Chris's mouth and dribbled down his neck.

Then the bottle was being offered to Jonny, and Jonny could do nothing but stare at the bottle in shock.

His lips touched that, Jonny thought, I can't drink from that!

“I don't have any weird diseases, promise,” Chris said. “Come on, drink so you don't pass out. You look like you're going to collapse at any minute.”

Jonny glared at Chris with a look that said, You don't even know. But he realized what he would have to do, and so he accepted the bottle with a shaky hand. He tried to imitate Chris's move from before and took a large gulp. The water went down just fine (he even spilled less down himself than Chris had) until he really thought about what he was doing. His lips were touching the bottle which Chris's lips had also touched just moments before.

Jonny spluttered, pulling the bottle away and spewing a bunch of water onto the dirt. He coughed a few times and felt Chris's hand on his back again.

“OK, OK,” Chris said, patting Jonny's back a bit. “Well, we don't want you to drown, either.”

Jonny looked at Chris, who kept his hand planted between Jonny's shoulder blades. Another boy – most likely the boy who threw the bottle to Chris – approached the two.

“Who's this?” the boy asked, nodding in Jonny's direction. Jonny realized at this moment that Chris had no idea who he was. Chris would surely come to the same realization at any moment and consequently learn that Jonny was just some creepy kid who liked to watch them from the small window of the building.

“Erm,” Chris began, and he took his hand off of Jonny's back to point it at him. This is the end, Jonny thought, goodbye Chris, it was nice tasting your saliva... “Jonny, right?”

Jonny's spine stiffened. He had no idea how Chris could have stumbled upon this sort of information (though, of course, Chris was incredibly intelligent and seemed to know everything – except CPR), and briefly he wondered if he was the only creep around. The other boy looked at Jonny expectantly, and Jonny shook himself out of his stupor and nodded his head feebly.

“Jonny goes to school with us,” Chris told the other boy.

“Oh. Is he playing?”

“No,” Chris said with a bit of a laugh. Jonny figured he should have been insulted, but he was too busy admiring Chris's smile to care. "He can't even catch."

“Oh.”

The other boy seemed to have lost interest at this point and walked away. But only a minute later, he and several of the other boys returned with the buckets of water, some of which were now empty. A few of the boys set the buckets down by Jonny's feet.

“If you're not playing,” the boy who had spoken before said, “then you're water-boy. Think you can handle that?”

“Of course he can,” Chris answered. Jonny watched him in awe. “As long as he doesn't try to drink it.”

None of the other boys laughed, they just walked away once more, but Chris turned to Jonny with a smile and his eye twitched in what Jonny supposed was a wink. Jonny continued to stare at him in awe, but Chris must have thought Jonny looked nervous.

“Hey,” Chris put his hand on Jonny's back for the third time and leaned in, “it's easier than catching, promise.”

Jonny gave him a smile as the skin under Chris's hand started to tingle and his heartbeat sped up. Chris rejoined his team moments later, leaving Jonny to admire his shoulder blades as he walked away.

One thing Jonny noticed during his time as the water-boy that afternoon was that watching Chris became much easier when Chris was only a few hundred yards away. The little details about him (his collarbone and shoulder blades, for instance) were far clearer from this distance. Jonny had to look at what was happening during the rest of the game from time to time to not appear too suspicious, but since the other boys' attentions were focused on the game anyway, he could stare at Chris for long increments of time without worry.

Then, as a bonus, every time the boys stopped for a break, Chris would walk over to grab a drink, and he would say something cute and smile at Jonny. It almost felt like a friendship forming. When the boys finished playing several hours later as the sky turned purple and Chris asked if Jonny would like to continue his profession for the rest of the summer, Jonny did not hesitate to say yes.

It would be a good summer, indeed.

Substitute Dad

2011-06-29T18:32:00.003-04:00

He thought it odd that such a proper woman would conduct an interview in the kitchen of her home, rather than the sitting room – or even the dining room, for that matter. The kitchen was elegant, of course, but he concluded that therefore the rest of the house could only be nicer. Why interview him in the kitchen? It wasn't as though she would offer refreshments.

Her long, fake nails, painted crimson, scratched against the crisp surface of his résumé, which only took up about half a sheet of paper. “How old are you, boy?”

“Nineteen, ma'am.”

She didn't look up, yet he could feel her eyes on him, boring into his soul. “Oh, a rather young one. No university for you?”

“Can't afford it, ma'am.”

“Ah, but surely with your good grades, you could get in on a scholarship.”

He laughed. “Actually, my marks were, let's say, less-than-average.”

“And why is that?”

“Oh, I'm not stupid. I just didn't try.”

“That sounds pretty stupid to me.”

“All right,” he quietly replied.

When she did finally look up at him, he was far less frightened than he thought he would be. She was only a human, after all. In fact, she had that same maternal softness to her eyes that his own mother had. It calmed him. It gave him back his confidence.

“Why should I hire you?”

“Ma'am, I'm the oldest of five, and my parents are both very hard-working people. Not only have I inherited their work ethic, I've also babysat a lot.”

“You've watched your own brothers and sisters. How about anyone else's children?”

“Well, no, but – well, children are children, right?”

“Right,” she said with obvious sarcasm, “children are children.”

“So, do I have the job?”

She was silent for a long time. “You know, I have a nineteen-year-old boy as well.”

“Why not have him do the work, then?” he asked in jest. She did not laugh.

“He is furthering his education.”

“Oh. That's good. You should be proud.”

She returned to him the résumé. At first he thought it was a bad sign. Unfortunately, this woman never seemed to show any emotion, so he couldn't really tell. “You start tomorrow. I want you here at six a.m., no later.”

Five minutes after the mother – who had demanded that he refer to her only as Mrs. B. – had left, he realized he was in way over his head. And the children weren't even awake yet.

Mrs. B. had left him a rather long and intricate list of things which needed to be done around the house. There were the basics, like feed the children and make sure neither of them dies, but there were also a few extraordinary tasks, such as:

Ensure Claudia practices piano between one and three o'clock. She must practice for ten minutes, rest for three, and repeat.

While Claudia practices, Dylan must fold the laundry in the green basket to the left of the washing machine. He is to fold in this order: shirts, then pants, socks, undergarments.

He didn't feel overwhelmed, though. He thought that while these demands were odd, they should be easy enough to accomplish.

He was wrong.

Claudia woke up first, came downstairs, and screamed when she saw him – him, a strange man she never knew, lounging in their sitting room and plotting to kidnap her or kill her or something, and loot all their valuables and sell them for drug money. At least, that was what she hollered at him as he stood in a panic, waving his hands to quiet her so he could explain. She did not stop yelling for a good ten minutes.

But he had no time to explain when she did stop, for the noise had woken Dylan. Dylan, in all of his bravery, had grabbed the toy sword that sat on top of his toy chest in the corner of his room and had gallantly come down the stairs to save his younger sister. Dylan was only eight years old, only four feet tall, yet he did not seem threatened by the six-foot-two man in the sitting room. He ran right up to the stranger and whacked him in the knees with the sword, causing the man to fall to the ground.

“Who be thee, monstrous intruder?” Dylan had the sword pointed at the man's neck now.

“I'm your nanny, I'm here to watch you guys. Jesus Christ!”

“What?” giggled Claudia. With brave Dylan by her side, her fears seemed to have disappeared. “A nanny? But you're a boy!”

“Boys can be nannies, too,” the man said. “Now, will you stop shoving that thing at my throat so I can get up?”

“Why should we believe you?” Dylan asked.

“Your mother hired me yesterday. Look, she even wrote me a list of things for you guys to do.”

He pointed at the chair he had been sitting in. On the seat was the list. Claudia bounced over and grabbed the paper. She held it up to her face.

“Chuh-er-is, th-ease-e ah-r-e s-oh-me th-in-guhs th-ah-tuh–”

“Give me that, you can't read!” Dylan shouted. He leaped to his sister, allowing Chuh-er-is to stand and rub his sore knees. “Kuh,” Dylan corrected, shooting a smug look at Claudia, “ris, these are suh-um thuh-ings that nee – need to bee...”

While Dylan continued to butcher the words (though to a lesser extent than Claudia had), Kuhris seized the opportunity to sneak up behind Dylan and slide the toy sword out of his hands. Claudia shrieked when she saw.

“Dylan, he's got your sword!! We're going to die!!”

“No one's going to die,” Kuhris reassured her. “Will you please settle down?”

“How do you know that no one's going to die?” Claudia asked. He couldn't tell if she was serious or if she was trying to mock him. “Are you psychic?”

“I'm not psychic, but one of the things your mother told me was to make sure that neither of you die. And I fully intend to do my job and do it well. So, no one's going to die.”

“What if you die?” Dylan asked. He consulted the list still in his hands. “This doesn't say anything about you not dying.”

“I'm not going to die, either,” Kuhris answered, though he wasn't entirely convinced.

At lunch, Claudia refused to finish her food, and Dylan threw half of his onto the floor.

“I hate macaroni and cheese!” Claudia screeched. “I hate it!”

Chris thought of all the things he hated as well (platform shoes, contemporary jazz, the way his neighbor always added extra letters to the word 'hello') and how Claudia was very rapidly making her way to the top of that list. But he kept it to himself and shoved the plate closer to Claudia.

“I don’t care if you hate it, I don’t care if your grandmother choked to death on a piece of macaroni when you were three, you’re going to eat this,” he told her. Claudia looked up at him with teary eyes, her lips trembling slightly.

“Why would you say that about Grammy?”

“Oh, geez, Claudia, I just want you to finish eating. Look at your brother, he—”

Chris had intended to point to Dylan – who, until that moment, had been satisfactorily eating his lunch – and turn his currently good behavior into an example for Claudia He had been relying heavily on Claudia’s admiration for her older brother; unfortunately, Dylan had other plans, plans which involved knocking his own plate (still half-full with macaroni) off of the table.

After the clinking sound of plate-on-floor ceased, Dylan smirked at Chris. Chris sighed and threw a hand over his eyes. A few moments later, he leaned over to observe Dylan’s fallen macaroni, and then calmly sat up straight.

“All right, Dylan, looks like you’ll be eating the rest of your lunch on the floor.”

“What?” Dylan protested. “No way, you can’t make me eat that! It’s all gross, I’ll die from it!”

“The floor isn’t that dirty. And anyway, you should have thought about that before you threw it.”

“You’re mean,” Dylan said, folding his arms over his chest. He made a point of not moving down from the seat to where his lunch now rested. Chris stared at him, hoping that his expression was intimidating enough.

It wasn’t.

“Fine,” Chris eventually said, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine. Neither of you have to finish eating.” Claudia and Dylan were preparing their shouts of glee, Chris could tell. “But you both have to sit in the coat closet until one o’clock. And then, Claudia, you have to practice piano, and Dylan has to fold clothes.”

“No!” they both shouted.

“That’s so boring,” Dylan whined.

“The closet is too dark and scary!”

“It’s either that or finish eating,” Chris said. The two children looked at him indecisively, then at each other. They seemed to be conversing telepathically.

After a moment, Claudia turned back to Chris. “Actually, it's not that dark, and Dylan will protect me from all the closet monsters. Right, Dylan?”

“I guess.”

Chris stared at the children with disbelief. They had to be joking, surely. What kind of child in their right mind would rather spend half an hour or better stuck inside of a closet than eat a tiny bit of macaroni? “Seriously?”

Then again, Chris could hardly say that either of the children was in their right mind. Honestly, he had been relieved when he got the job, but now he was beginning to see a potential reason why; Mrs. B. must have just been desperate to find someone else to watch her children, so desperate she would settle for hiring a nineteen-year-old boy with hardly any experience. He started to think that maybe he should have just taken that job at the convenience store.

“I hate macaroni,” Claudia said.

Chris felt like he was going to pass out. Not only had the children been extremely difficult – Dylan refused to fold the clothes in the correct order, and Claudia wouldn't stop banging on the piano – but he had now been at the house for fifteen hours straight.

Luckily, it was the children's bedtime. Chris thought it would have been harder to get them both to sleep, but he wasn't the only one who was tired. Claudia fell asleep almost as soon as she lay down. Dylan appeared to be wide awake still, though Chris decided that as long as his sister was asleep, Dylan didn't seem to pose much of a threat.

He sat down on the couch in the living room and took a deep breath. If he was expected to do this kind of work every day... well, Mrs. B. might just have to find another nanny. Chris felt a wave of guilt at the thought of quitting after only one day, but surely Mrs. B. must have known just how awful her children really were. Or maybe they had inherited their personalities from their mother.

Chris closed his eyes, though he remained awake. An indeterminable amount of time later, he thought he heard the sound of the doorknob turning. His heart sped up with rejoice as he wondered if Mrs. B. had finally returned home and would relieve him of his duty.

The figure that burst through the door moments later was certainly no Mrs. B., though. In fact, it wasn't a Mrs. at all; the man who Chris saw in the doorway looked very young, possibly even the same age as Chris.

“Who are you?” Chris could hear the panic in his own voice. He knew that the question sounded awkward, but he hadn't thought about it beforehand. He was just worried now at the sight of this unknown man walking into the home he was supposed to be watching over.

The man looked up at him, and Chris thought he saw an equally startled look across his face. “Well, I could ask you the same thing. I live here. Who the hell are you?”

“You live here?”

“Yes, idiot, I just said that. Who the hell are you?”

Chris's eyes widened and he suddenly felt livid. Did this man just seriously call him an idiot? He had absolutely no right to sling such insults, considering he didn't even know Chris.

“Mrs. B. hired me to watch her children—”

“Oh, so you're one of them, then,” the man said, dismissively. While the man seemed to have gotten his answer, though, Chris felt cheated. The man made to walk into the other room, but Chris stopped him.

“And who are you, then?” he asked, his tone snippier than he would have liked. The man stopped and dramatically turned around, an action which, oddly, reminded Chris of Claudia.

“Listen, when she hired you to watch her children, she meant them,” he said, pointing to the area of the ceiling where the children's bedroom was located. “I don't need you to watch over me, too.”

Chris felt very confused – until he remembered something that Mrs. B. had said to him the day before:

You know, I have a nineteen-year-old boy as well.

“You're the college boy.”

This statement seemed to spark an unexpected anger in the other man. “I attend university, yes. That doesn't make me a college boy.” He spat the words, as if Chris had referred to him with some unforgivable slur.

“I'm sorry,” Chris said, sincerely, “I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that your mother told me you were in college. I'm sorry.”

The man's anger washed away at Chris's apology. “It's OK.”

“I'm Chris, by the way.”

“Jonny.” He looked around the room, briefly, and Chris thought his cheeks were flushed. Perhaps he was embarrassed by his earlier outburst. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Um...”

“I mean, like water or soda or something. I may be in college, but I'm not much of a partyer or anything.”

“No, yeah,” Chris said, nodding. “I'm fine, thanks.”

He found himself once more surprised as Jonny made his way over to the couch and sat down beside him. He thought Jonny would have just gone on to the kitchen to get a drink without him, but apparently he was wrong.

“So, this is your first day with the brats?”

“First day, yeah.”

“And last?”

Chris looked at Jonny. As his tone had suggested, Jonny seemed to be pleading with Chris through his eyes, begging Chris to answer in the negative. The expression made him feel slightly uncomfortable, though, strangely, not in an entirely undesirable way.

“I really need the money,” Chris said. Jonny smiled at this.

“Most of the people my mum hires only stay for about a week, then they leave, screaming and ripping their hair out.”

“Well, your brother and sister are certainly a handful,” Chris laughed. “How is it that you've managed to keep your locks in tact?”

“I don't have to watch them,” Jonny told him. “I don't really have to have anything to do with them. And I'm nineteen. By the time Claudia could talk, I was practically an adult.”

“Oh.”

“But you should see my dad. I swear, the man's got a bald spot the size of London.” Chris laughed as Jonny motioned to the top of his head.

Despite Jonny's earlier similarity to his sister and the bit of attitude he had given Chris, Jonny was really nothing like either of his siblings. First of all, he was actually tolerable. Excluding the complaints about his siblings, Jonny didn't even whine once during the whole conversation. He was easy to get along with, at least from Chris's point of view. Chris found himself becoming more and more relaxed as the night went on.

Chris and Jonny had been talking for what felt like hours – and what technically was hours; two whole hours, in fact – when the sound of the doorknob turning came once again. This time, Mrs. B. really was the one at the door. She smiled when she saw her eldest son before her.

“Hello, Jonny!”

“Hey, mum,” Jonny answered.

“I see you met the new help,” she said as she made her way across the room. Chris noticed the harsh look Jonny gave her afterward, which he thought was peculiar. “How were they for you?”

Chris just barely realized that she was speaking to him now (and he figured that she had not properly addressed him, because she couldn't remember his name). He tore his gaze away from Jonny and stumbled over the decision of whether or not to tell her the truth.

“Could have been better,” he said with a shrug. “And... well, I guess they also could have been worse.”

“Doubt it,” Jonny muttered. Mrs. B. appeared not to have heard it, but the remark was only just audible to Chris, who then stifled a laugh.

“Good, good. I'm just going to freshen up in the ladies' room. I'll leave you two to your chat.”

Chris watched as Mrs. B. exited the room, and then he turned to Jonny again. Jonny had his embarrassed look on.

“So, what were you saying before? Something about a band...”

Jonny's expression turned to a pensive one. Then he seemed to remember where he had left off. “Oh! One of my friends says he wants to start a band, but... I don't really see it happening. I think it's just another one of his harebrained schemes.”

“Aw, what a shame. You should join him. You two could rise to fame and take on the world.”

Jonny gave a look which indicated how unlikely he thought that to happen, and Chris smiled. He felt like he had hardly stopped smiling during the past two hours, though. He wondered how his cheeks weren't sore.

Then Jonny's voice took on a rather serious tone. First, his face went blank and he leaned forward a little. “Listen, Chris...”

“I'm all ears,” Chris told him. He waited for several seconds before Jonny finally continued.

“Never mind. It's... it's too soon.”

“No, come on. You can tell me.”

Jonny let out a sigh. “I can't tell you, otherwise I may as well just do it.”

“Then do it.”

He shot Chris a skeptical look. “You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?” Chris shook his head, the most innocent expression on his face. He wasn't sure why Jonny was suddenly so somber, but he was certain that whatever he had to say couldn't have been so bad.

After a while, though, Chris realized he wasn't going to get Jonny to speak. He became suddenly all too aware of his tiredness. “Well, I guess I should get going home, then.”

Jonny didn't reply. Chris walked out of the room and towards the coat closet. He wasn't sure where Mrs. B. was exactly, but he didn't feel like looking for her to bid farewell. She could probably figure out for herself that he had left.

When Chris walked back through the living room, Jonny was exactly where he had left him, sitting on the couch. It wasn't until Chris was already out of the house that he became aware of any movement at all from Jonny.

“Chris, wait.”

Chris pulled his foot back from the top step and turned around to see Jonny on the other side of the porch, in front of the door. He didn't know if he should walk back to Jonny or just stay where he was. Jonny, on the other hand, took several steps forward, until he and Chris were within a foot of each other. He seemed nervous.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Chris smiled at him and nodded. “Yeah.”

There were a few moments of silence – comfortable silence, not awkward, though Chris could tell that Jonny was still anxious. Jonny's foot tapped on the ground a few times, as if he were willing himself to move forward. Why he would want to move forward, Chris couldn't guess, since there was almost no room between them even now—

In what felt like the blink of an eye, Jonny finally pushed himself forward, his lips crashing into Chris's cheek, and quickly he pulled back again, and Chris could see the fear flash through Jonny's eyes, and the somber nervousness suddenly made sense.

And then Jonny was gone, disappeared through the door before Chris could even really register what had just happened...

What had just happened?

Chris tried very hard the next day to forget about the incident on the porch. He wasn't trying to act as if it hadn't happened, though; he still did not fully understand what Jonny did, and he really did not need any stress additional to that associated with caring for Claudia and Dylan. He simply wanted to focus on watching the children and wait until Jonny returned that night to dwell.

The children had new chores this day. Now, Dylan was to practice piano and Claudia was to dust the living room. Like the day before, neither cooperated. Dylan ran his hands up and down the keys constantly, refusing to actually play any of the sheet music in front of him. Claudia simply skipped around the room with the duster in her hand, pretending to be a fairy. When Chris asked her to stop, she tried to dust his face instead.

“Claudia, knock it off!” Chris shouted through the duster, before he could think of his own diction.

“Knock what off? Knock this vase off?”

Claudia moved across the room, and Chris could finally see again. But now he panicked – he had never gotten the hang of wording commands correctly around children, and now his lack of talent was going to cause him big trouble.

Luckily, Chris managed to grab Claudia's wrist before she could even touch the vase sitting on a table in the corner of the room.

“That's it, you're going in the closet.”

“What! No!”

Immediately, Claudia calmed. Her arms fell to her sides and she looked solemnly at Chris.

“Well, if you can't behave yourself, then you're going to be punished.”

“What about Dylan?” Claudia asked with a bit of hope. “He's not behaving, either! He should have to go in the closet, too.”

“Dylan hasn't tried to break anything,” Chris answered. “Yet.”

“But it's really scary in there.”

“Good.”

Claudia looked as if she were about to cry, her eyes shining and her lips trembling. She seemed genuinely afraid, not simply trying to manipulate Chris, but it had no effect wither way. Chris had to stick to his threat or else she'd never learn.

He grabbed her wrist again and led her to the closet. He realized that some people may have frowned upon forcing a six-year-old to sit in a dark closet as a punishment, but he merely thought of it as a time-out. There was just no other room in the house in which the children would not have access to items they could play with – or break.

He did feel guilty when he closed the closet door and heard Claudia whimper, but he knew it was for the best.

After the children went to bed, Chris sat on the couch as he had the night before. He stared at the front door, waiting for it to open and reveal Jonny. As the minutes passed, the burning sensation in his stomach intensified and his chest seemed to tighten with every breath.

But Jonny never showed up. Chris waited for two hours, and when the door did finally open, he was disappointed to see that Mrs. B. was the one entering the house. She came in and greeted Chris, inquired about how the children had behaved that day. Chris told her about Claudia's disobedience, but Mrs. B. hardly seemed to honestly care.

He did think it curious that she also didn't care about Jonny's whereabouts; perhaps she already knew where he was, or perhaps he stayed out late quite often. He was an adult, after all.

Ten minutes later, once Mrs. B. terminated their conversation about her children, Chris grabbed his coat from the dark closet and prepared to leave. Maybe he would have the chance to speak to Jonny tomorrow instead. At least now he knew that no matter what Jonny's intentions had been, he clearly regretted his actions. Chris wasn't so sure that was a good thing, though.

An owl hooted in the distance as he closed the door to the house behind him. He slowly turned, and that's when he noticed the man sitting on the porch swing to his left. The man was mostly just a silhouette, but Chris knew exactly who he was. He looked like he was trying to blend into the darkness.

“Hello,” Chris said in a flat voice. Jonny didn't look at him.

“Oh... hey... It's a nice night out, huh?”

Despite his tiredness, Chris walked around to the empty space on the swing beside Jonny and sat down. He let out a deep sigh and stared with Jonny into the dark lawn before them. Jonny was fidgeting, though it seemed like he was trying his best not to.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Jonny groaned, and his head fell into his hands. Chris turned to him. He thought of what he could say next, but he wanted to give Jonny plenty of time to speak first. Jonny didn't seem to have any intention of speaking, though. Maybe he was waiting for Chris's reaction, the reaction which he had missed the night before.

“Jonny?”

“I always do this, you know,” Jonny mumbled through his hands. “I always do things without thinking about them first – well, I think about them, but not about what comes after, and then I just... well, what does come after is just...” He made another groaning noise, though this time it more closely resembled a whine.

“So... you didn't mean it or...?”

“No, I did mean it, that's the problem!” Jonny finally lifted his head and met Chris's eyes, continuing in his distressed tone, “Listen, Chris, I had a really great time talking with you last night and you're hilarious and all those other predictable compliments. But I'm a complete idiot. There was absolutely no reason for me to... to kiss you. Even if it was only on the cheek.”

Chris watched Jonny for a while, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “I'm not sure I understand. You meant it?”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I should have done it!”

“Well, you don't have to sound so upset about it,” Chris said with a sudden dejected quality to his voice. Though he now better understood why Jonny had kissed him, he still struggled to comprehend Jonny's reaction. Had Jonny changed his mind?

That was probably it. Jonny had felt attracted to Chris, but then once he actually kissed Chris, he realized that his expectations had not been met – or something along those lines. Chris frowned; he felt that was highly unfair. They hadn't even properly kissed. What was there for Jonny to judge?

“I'm sorry,” Jonny said. “I'm an idiot, I know.”

Then Chris simulated Jonny's earlier words by acting without thinking of the consequences; he quickly leaned forward and kissed Jonny on the lips. Jonny was clearly startled, but after a few seconds he started to kiss back.

Chris was apt to say that it was strange, but really it was only strange, because it didn't feel strange. He had never kissed another man, but it felt no different from kissing a woman. He thought he might have just stumbled upon an unexpected discovery regarding his sexuality – but there was plenty of time to worry about that later.

When they pulled apart, the confusion that Chris had felt earlier (and would probably soon begin to feel again) was clearly strewn across Jonny's visage.

“I certainly didn't expect that,” Jonny murmured.

“I just thought that if you were going to reject me, you might as well know what it actually feels like.” Chris wasn't sure if he had made much sense with that statement, but it seemed to spark something in Jonny's mind, judging by the way his eyes lit up.

“I wasn't rejecting you.”

“You weren't?”

Jonny rubbed one of his hands over his forehead. “I feel like neither of us is being very clear about anything in this situation.” After a moment, he let his hand fall down to his legs and took a deep breath. “Chris, I really enjoyed talking to you last night and I was sad that you were leaving, because I wanted to talk to you more and maybe do some other things, too, and that's why I kissed you, but I'm an idiot, because we barely know each other to begin with and I had and still have no idea how you feel about me, so I was just apologizing for not considering your feelings before, but not rejecting you.”

Chris stared at him for a few seconds, and then gasped a little. “Oh, is it my turn now? Right. Jonny, I really enjoyed talking to you last night as well, but then when you kissed me I felt really confused, because I didn't realize that you felt that way and I actually wasn't sure exactly which way you did feel and then you apologized and said there was no reason for you to do it and I just thought that it was because you thought it was awful or something, but it wasn't even proper, so I figured that I would show you what it was like to properly kiss me and then you could reject me based on that. I'm not sure how I feel about you, either. Before the kiss was one thing, but now...”

“Maybe for now, we should just talk. Get to know each other better.”

“Yeah,” Chris said, smiling a little. “I'd like that.”

Chris stood in the doorway of Claudia and Dylan’s bedroom. Thinking back on the day, he was surprised to find that not once had he needed to punish either of the children. They had both been extremely well-behaved, never acting out or arguing with Chris, just doing exactly as he asked.

Now, the children lay in their beds, staring back at Chris. Once they were both settled, Chris flicked the light switch and said goodnight.

“Goodnight, Chris!” the children chirped back. Chris briefly wondered if this moment wasn’t simply part of a dream; then he left the room, smiling, headed downstairs to wait for Jonny.

Chris had been working for Mrs. B. for a month now. Jonny told him that was the longest anyone had ever stayed. Chris felt a rush of pride at hearing this information. Although Claudia and Dylan were a nightmare when he first arrived, the two had really grown on him, and he was pretty sure he’d grown on them as well.

And, of course, every day he looked forward to talking with Jonny. They hadn’t discussed their relationship since that second night, but Chris had a feeling that Jonny was still attracted to him, and to be honest, Chris was attracted to Jonny as well. He thoroughly enjoyed their nightly chats, but he felt now that he was ready for more. The only obstacle was tackling the nerve to tell Jonny this.

Jonny was already waiting for Chris on the couch when Chris finally arrived downstairs. He didn’t seem to hear Chris enter the room, though, so Chris smiled to himself and snuck up behind Jonny.

He waited for a few seconds, and then quickly reached around and covered Jonny’s eyes with his hands and said, “Guess who?”

“Oh my God!”

Clearly, Chris had been right in thinking Jonny hadn’t noticed he was there. Chris kept his hands over Jonny’s eyes and chuckled. “God? Jonny, I’m flattered, but no.”

“Well, you took away my eyesight, I could only assume you were some divine being,” Jonny said. “By the way, can I have that back now?”

“Hmm… maybe. What’s in it for me?”

“I do have my own hands, you know. I could easily remove yours.” Chris took note of the fact that while Jonny could, he didn’t. He smiled again and slowly pulled his hands away, and then leaned over Jonny’s shoulder to see his face.

“Better?” he asked. Jonny looked at him.

“Yeah.”

“You're back kinda early tonight, huh?”

“Traffic,” Jonny replied.

“You mean there wasn't any?” Jonny nodded. “Are you sure you didn't just want to see me?”

“Well...”

Chris walked around the side of the couch and flopped down in the seat beside Jonny. “Your siblings were well-behaved today.”

“I don't think I've ever heard those words uttered before in my life – at least, not when directed at me,” Jonny said, smiling. “You must be some sort of miracle worker, Chris.”

“Yes, well, just because I'm not God doesn't mean I can't have some divine powers, right?”

Jonny rolled his eyes. “Oh, right, you just reek divinity, you know, from those huge sparkling eyes to those golden curls.” Jonny flicked a lock of Chris's hair. Sometimes Chris thought that moments like this were nice enough by themselves – did he and Jonny really need to declare anything to each other? Their feelings were obviously mutual.

“Well, what about you?” Chris asked. “You've got those green eyes... I never see anyone with green eyes around.”

“Green eyes are a sign of witchcraft,” Jonny said. “Clearly satanic.”

“So, I'm divine and you're satanic? That's quite a match.”

“It's like you're some sort of angel and I'm just a lowly wizard.”

“No, I don't think you're lowly.”

Chris felt a burning in his throat; it seemed as though he and Jonny were moving closer to each other with every second that passed. His heartbeat sped up and he thought this might be the perfect time to gather up his courage.

But at that precise moment, a noise came from the stairway. Chris and Jonny whipped their heads around to look; there were no visible bodies at the top of the stairs, but the two men could hear a noise which distinctly sounded like Claudia giggling.

Chris exchanged a glance with Jonny. He turned back to the staircase and loudly said, “Claudia.”

The giggling only grew louder. Chris was about to stand up when he noticed that Jonny was already making his way up the stairs. Chris decided to follow him anyway.

When they both reached the second floor of the house, though, Claudia was nowhere in sight. Jonny walked to the doorway of the children's bedroom.

“Claudia?” he whispered.

“Jonny?”

“Go to bed, Claudia.”

“Wait, Jonny!”

Chris stood a few feet away from the door frame. He heard several muffled noises which he thought might have sounded like feet on carpet; several seconds later, Claudia appeared in the doorway and threw her arms around Jonny's waist. Then, without saying another word, she disappeared once more into the darkness of the bedroom.

Jonny turned to Chris, looking as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't decide what to say. At the very least, he seemed surprised by Claudia's actions. Chris smiled at him as if to say that it was all right. Eventually, Jonny simply shrugged and nodded toward the stairs. The two men returned to the couch.

As usual, Chris and Jonny spoke for roughly two hours before Mrs. B. returned. Chris told her about how well the children had behaved, but she didn’t appear to be truly listening. He thought maybe there should be someone watching Mrs. B. and her parenting methods as well as her children, although she had managed to raise at least one respectable son.

Jonny rolled his eyes as his mother left the room, and Chris laughed. “If she came home one night and you told her that Dylan went on a shooting rampage at the park,” Jonny said, “I bet you she’d just nod and say, ‘All right.’”

“Probably.” Chris stood up, but hesitated to move further. “I’ll be right back.”

A minute later, he returned with his coat, pushing his arms through the sleeves. Jonny stood now, too, and he walked towards the front door, which he then held open for Chris.

Once Chris was on the porch, he turned and waited for Jonny, who closed the door and faced Chris. Jonny seemed to expect Chris to speak first, perhaps because he, like Chris, felt no desire to bid the other farewell. Chris didn’t even feel tired; after spending so many days working long hours, he had become accustomed to staying up late. All he wanted to do was talk to Jonny until the sun rose and he had to watch the children again.

Chris was unsure of how much time lapsed while they both just stood and stared at one another. It felt like no time at all, though he was vaguely aware of the minutes rapidly passing by. He had so much he wanted to say, but none of the time or bravery to say it. He had so much he wanted to hear Jonny say, but he figured that he and Jonny were probably stuck in the same boat. He suddenly became aware that he was tapping his foot, in very much the same way Jonny had done that first night they met…

Something sparked a fire inside his body, and he felt himself move forward without any consciousness of what he was doing. But once he felt his lips brush against Jonny’s, his mind went blank and he found the he simply didn’t care what he was doing anymore; this was the moment he’d been waiting for all night, if not for the past several weeks.

Jonny didn’t hesitate. As soon as Chris kissed him, he had his arms wrapped around Chris’s waist, pulling him closer. Chris slid his hands up to Jonny’s neck, fingertips brushing the ends of Jonny’s hair.

As they finally pulled apart, Chris whispered, breathless, “Same time tomorrow?”

Claudia poked at the peanut butter sandwich on the plate in front of her. Despite her request of a crust-less sandwich, Chris had left the bread completely in tact. He stood on the other side of the counter, preparing another sandwich for Dylan. He paused, butter knife hanging in the air, and stared at Claudia.

“You're supposed to eat it,” he said. “Not poke it.”

“You were supposed to leave the crust off,” she retorted.

“Eating the crust won't kill you. It's good for you.”

A few off-key notes rang out from the piano in the other room. Chris glanced at the doorway.

“Dylan, stop messing around,” he shouted. Moments later, the small boy appeared in the doorway, hands behind his back.

“I wasn't doing anything,” he said with a slight smirk, which gave him away.

“Well, now you are. Come over here and eat.” Chris slapped a piece of bread on top of the one which he had already slathered peanut butter on. He was never much of a cook, really.

Dylan hopped up to the seat beside his sister. Unlike Claudia, Dylan was much more willing to eat the crust from the bread. He tore into the sandwich with a vicious jerk of his head that made Chris glad he hadn't put anything in the sandwich which could fly across the room. If he had made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, he'd have quite a mess to clean up.

“Chris,” Claudia began, still looking at her sandwich with distaste, “I think my brother likes you.”

Chris paused. He had, until that moment, been returning the jar of peanut butter to its rightful place and was right in the middle of setting the butter knife in the sink. “What?”

He turned. Claudia poked at her sandwich. She shrugged, indifferent. “Jonny was home all weekend from school and all he talked about was you. He only does that with boys he likes.”

“Well, all right. That's kind of... that came out of nowhere.” Chris finished his previous task. He thought about washing the butter knife while he was right there, but then decided against it. They would have another snack in a few hours, anyway. He walked over to the counter.

“I was just thinking about how sad it would be if you were together and you made him a sandwich. He doesn't like crust either.”

“Well, I'll keep that in mind.”

With this, Claudia perked up in her seat. She narrowed her eyes and smirked at Chris. “Do you like him?”

“I-”

She squealed. Loudly. Chris almost flung his hands over his hears in response. “You do!” she cried, and then proceeded to sing. “CHRIS AND JONNY SITTING IN A TREE–”

Dylan decided, with a mouth full of sandwich, that this would be an appropriate moment to join in. The children's voices rang through the room, echoing off the walls and into Chris's ears. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Oh, my God.” Chris buried his head in his hands. He sincerely hoped that this serenade would be over soon enough.

When Jonny first came home, he and Chris sat on the couch and talked, something they did every night. Jonny spoke about his classes that day, and Chris told the story of the lunchtime singing session. Jonny looked slightly embarrassed afterward, but he shook his head and rolled his eyes, making a comment about how typical that was of his siblings.

An hour and a half later, they were no longer conversing, at least not in the conventional way. Occasionally, a low grunt would rumble through vocal chords – a gasp for air heard every so often. Hands spoke more than words could, fingertips brushing over bare skin. Neither laid on the couch, but their positions were far from sitting; Jonny's back pressed in between the back of the couch and the arm rest as Chris leaned into him.

They broke apart momentarily for air, during which time Chris took the liberty to slide his hand further under the hem of Jonny's shirt. He wasn't sure where exactly they were going with this, how far they would end up going, but he acted on instinct and decided to just follow along until something felt uncomfortable. His fingers skimmed over the slight patch of hair on Jonny's stomach as they continued to travel up.

Chris caught the look glimmering in Jonny's eyes, which seemed to be pleading, begging for more. They brought their mouths together again, each frantically fighting for the upper hand, just as Chris's hand stopped. It rested over one of Jonny's ribs, as far as Chris could reach without being in an awkward and probably painful position.

It was strange for Chris to think about how natural being with Jonny felt. He was well aware – especially with their bodies pressed together as they were now – that Jonny was not a girl, like he was used to, yet not one ounce of his person seemed to care, body or mind. True, he had thought about it and had come to the conclusion that if Jonny actually were a girl, he might like him (or her) even more, but that didn't stop his heart from racing whenever the other boy was near, when they just sat on the couch talking and their hands brushed.

Jonny was exciting, and funny, adorable, honest, and he made Chris feel like he had never felt before. Though Chris was the oldest in his family and therefore the only one of the children who had ever experienced what it was like to be an only child, the title hadn't lasted long at all, and he had spent almost his entire life surrounded by siblings who needed just as much attention as he did. He never went to a private school, as he assumed Jonny probably had; he had gone to a public school with far too many children, the classes filled with thirty or more students. Chris was used to being only one of many.

But Jonny had a way of making Chris feel, as cheesy as he knew it sounded, like he was the only other person in the world. He could have gone without the attention, but it created this connection between them which Chris decided, in his youthfulness, he never wanted to give up.

And so, as they rested, making out on the couch, Chris never even considered the fact that they were in a rather public area of the house. Neither boy considered the possibility of Mrs. B. returning home half an hour earlier than her usual time, only to find that her nanny was practically lying on top of her son. They only just heard the sound of Mrs. B. clearing her throat as she stood in the doorway.

They broke apart again, now for a much longer span of time. Chris sat back, though he did not turn his eyes away from Jonny. He could tell already that the situation was no good.

“I cannot believe this,” Mrs. B. said in an unusually calm tone. Chris had thought she might flip completely and start throwing at him any random objects within close proximity, but such was not the case. She was clearly angry, but as Chris kept his gaze on a spot just to the right of Jonny's nose, he heard no movement coming from her direction.

“Mum –” Jonny, who had braved a glance at Mrs. B., began, but he was almost immediately cut off by her next statement.

“You're fired.”

Chris actually turned to face her now, devastation slowly sinking in. There had to be a way to fix this. He couldn't lose his job.

Jonny decided to fight back first, though. “Mum, that's not fair! You can't fire him just because he and I are togeth–”

“Oh, I don't care about that,” she snapped, in a way that made it seem as though Jonny had protested similarly in the past, despite his mother's acceptance of his sexuality. Briefly, Chris wondered if she had ever caught him like this with any other boys...

But then Mrs. B. continued, and Chris broke free of his thoughts. “You,” she snarled, pointing a finger directly at Chris, “are supposed to be watching my children, not feeling them up and snogging them into the cushions.”

“But, Mrs. B., Claudia and Dylan went to sleep almost two hours ago,” Chris protested. He knew he should have stood at this point, walked over to Mrs. B. to apologize, but a fear kept him glued to his seat. His hands started to tremble. “They've been upstairs ever since.”

“Well, what if one of them had woken up and needed something? You'd have been too busy fooling around with my son to notice.”

“He would have noticed!” Jonny shouted, so loudly that Chris thought he might have woken the children. “He's not some stupid kid, he takes really good care of them and you can't just fire him like this.”

Chris sighed and put his hand on Jonny's arm. “No, she has a point,” he quietly said. Jonny turned to him with a look of confusion, but Chris ignored him. He stood up and left the room to grab his jacket. When he returned, Mrs. B. and Jonny remained where they had been before. He faced Mrs. B. and tried to look directly at her, though he still felt some of the fear from earlier. “I'm sorry. It was irresponsible of me. I hope you have a pleasant night.”

With that, Chris headed straight for the front door and the outside world. Jonny followed him, as he thought the other boy might, and so when Chris stepped onto the porch, the front door did not close all the way behind him. He paused, waited, but he didn't feel like turning around to actually face Jonny. After a few moments, he heard the door close and felt the air behind him move as Jonny stepped forward.

“It really wasn't fair of her to fire you like that.”

“Actually, it was.” Jonny exhaled, very loudly and in a way that suggested he was tired of trying to convince everyone that he was right. Chris looked at him and reestablished his grip on his jacket. “I don't blame you or anything. I'm not mad. But I understand where your mum was coming from.”

Jonny took another step closer to Chris. “She's never going to find anyone who can handle those kids like you could. Maybe... maybe if you just give it some time, she'll realize that and then you can come back.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. Listening to the way Jonny spoke, it sounded as if he was afraid that the end of Chris's job as a nanny meant the end of their time together. “I'm not leaving you,” Chris told him. Jonny gave him a pained look, one which meant he knew that Chris wasn't leaving him, but that he was still worried about their future together.

“We won't be able to see each other if you're not here anymore.”

“What do you mean? Of course we could.”

“I'll be at school all day, and you'll be working, and then you'll go home to your house and I'll come here.” Jonny folded his arms over his chest, whether because he was cold or because he was trying to protect himself, Chris was unsure. It was a bit chilly, after all. “We'll never see each other.”

“What about weekends?” Chris asked. Jonny continued to frown, indicating that it would still not work out. Chris sighed and tried to think of something else. He didn't want to agree with Jonny, though he realized that Jonny was, to an extent, absolutely right. They'd never have time to meet up.

Several minutes passed in silence. Jonny kept his arms over his chest, though Chris noticed that there were no goosebumps on his skin. Chris had thoroughly searched his brain, but had come up with nothing so far; however, he firmly held onto his reluctance to accept defeat. There had to be a way around this mess.

“What if we got a place together?” Chris finally spoke. “I've been thinking about moving out of my parents' house for a while now. I could, and... and you could move in with me. You could go to school all day and then come home to our place.”

After he finished speaking, Chris realized how ridiculous the proposition probably was. He and Jonny had known each other for a very brief amount of time, two months at the most. Jonny would surely think this a sign that they were moving too fast.

And yet, the look on Jonny's face certainly didn't portray any hint of disapproval. He stared at Chris for a few seconds; then, slowly, a grin broke across his face.

Chris flipped the page of the newspaper. He knew it had been a bad idea to move out of his childhood home and into a new apartment before finding another job, but he had saved up quite a lot of money working for Mrs. B., and Jonny was still being supported financially by his parents. For now, they need not worry about being able to make rent, though Chris did look through the paper every morning to see what was being offered.

He circled a few of the advertisements, though none really caught his attention. He was merely looking for a job so that he could maintain his lifestyle, he didn't need anything fancy.

Jonny stumbled into the room, looking like a zombie as he staggered towards Chris. Chris tilted his head back so that Jonny could lean over and kiss him while he stood behind the chair. After Chris went back to looking at the paper, Jonny chuckled and muttered, “Lazy.”

Chris spun around to face Jonny, who was already at the counter now, grabbing the items necessary to make a pot of coffee. He narrowed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at Jonny.

Even though Jonny's back faced Chris, he must have known what Chris was doing. “If you want to keep that tongue of yours, you better put it back into your mouth.”

Chris smirked. Living with Jonny had turned out to be a lot better than he had planned. Sure, it was his idea in the first place, but he knew that often a person can change – or, rather, one's perception of another person can change when those two people live together. He had been excited by the prospect of sharing a flat with Jonny, sure, but he was also wary at first. He knew now, too, that things could still go downhill for them. No reason he shouldn't enjoy himself in the meantime.

He had also been surprised to find that Jonny's parents had let their oldest son go without much of a fuss. Chris had worried that they might try to hold on to Jonny longer, especially since they were still paying for his school and everything else. Of course, he had never met Jonny's father, but Mrs. B. was certainly not too fond of any of her children. Chris wondered if she would have minded if he and Jonny had asked to take Claudia and Dylan as well.

Chris's parents seemed eager to be rid of him, too. He understood their reason, though; even having one less child to support relieved a lot of their stress. They would miss him, of course, and Chris had very plainly seen both of his parents hold back tears on the last night he spent in his childhood home (he'd kept back a few himself, too).

“Can you make me a cup, too?” Chris asked, referring to the coffee Jonny was in the process of making. Jonny snorted in response.

“How long have you been up for? You could have made some yourself.” Jonny walked across the tile floor and sat down next to Chris at the table. “And you're not helping to prove yourself not lazy.”

“I never said I wasn't lazy,” Chris said, grinning. “I just asked if you could get me coffee.”

Jonny shook his head, laughing along. Chris continued to smile at him for a while, watching as Jonny's face slowly transformed into a concentrated look. He seemed to be reading, but Chris didn't feel like turning to see what he was looking at. Jonny was nice enough to look at, and Chris especially liked the way Jonny's eyebrows curved toward each other just slightly when he read.

“How did you like being a nanny?” Jonny asked. Chris shook his head, though only to bring himself back to the moment.

“What?”

Instead of properly answering, Jonny pointed to the newspaper lying on the table. Chris glanced over and saw in the middle of the page an advertisement which said the following:

WANTED

Full-time nanny for three boys, ages 5-9.

Chris stopped reading right there (the rest of the advertisement only contained contact information, anyway). Did he like being a nanny? Over time, he had grown fond of Claudia and Dylan, and he did enjoy taking care of them. But that didn't mean he would feel the same being a nanny for a completely different family.

On the other hand, he was in no position to turn down any job offer that he was qualified for. After having tamed Claudia and Dylan in a retrospectively short amount of time, he felt certain that he could handle whatever was handed to him next. And, he thought as he gazed at Jonny again, sometimes being a nanny for a bunch of bratty kids can lead to a happy ending.

Something Rather Sweet

2011-06-29T18:32:00.000-04:00

Adapted from http://coldplay.com/newsdetail.php?id=654&page=0

Chris was on the first tea run of the day – not the Chris, of course, the fabulous Mr. Christopher Martin, the first and sometimes only Chris people think of when it comes to the band, but rather the assitant Chris Green (after all, Chris is hardly a rare name). The rest of us (save for the other Chris, and Jonny, which is another story) were all scattered about the Beehive, groaning in fatigue and eagerly awaiting his return. To be truthful, it was far more of a coffee-and-snacks run than tea, but the point is we were all just sitting there, waiting. Having unintentional staring contests across the room as we struggled to keep our lids from closing. It was, as they say, the norm.

In a studio filled with instruments and people, especially exhausted near-zombies, the occasional abrupt noise in the background is not so uncommon, as those near-zombies walk around with a balance that would get you about an inch on the tightrope before the free-fall into the giant net below. Combined with the fact that every single one of us was a near-zombie, this allowed for assistant Chris to reenter the building without anyone even noticing, despite all of our aches for his nourishment-clad arms.

He told us he was there for ten minutes before we realized. I think he was pulling our collective leg, so-to-speak, when he said that, mostly because when I got my coffee from him it was still hot enough to burn my tongue on the first sip.

The drinks were dispersed and the snacks, pastries, and fruit, as well as tubs of yoghurt and granola, placed on a nearby table for anyone who pleased to take them. I myself was about to snatch a particularly delicious-looking Danish when for some reason I stopped, noticing Will beside me grab a generous portion of yoghurt. He walked away and straight over to the desk where Rik Simpson, the sound engineer, presently sat. He obviously had not expected Will's presence, judging by the confused look on his face when he glanced up at the drummer.

“And I want to see this eaten now,” Will told Rik, not in a sarcastic or nasty tone, but sounding more like a caring father, “not still on your desk at 4pm.”

I always thought Will seemed more like a family man than the others – no offense to them, of course, as the whole lot of them are amazingly caring people – and this simple act did nothing but confirm it in my eyes. As if his command (while not intentionally harsh, Will can still be intimidating when he wants to) wasn't already enough to make Rik obey, Will stood behind him as he continued to work and feed himself large spoonfuls of yoghurt every minute or so.

Indeed, by 4pm that afternoon there was not even a hint of the yoghurt left at Rik's station, not even the container. Under Will's supervision, Rik had scarfed it down within ten minutes while simultaneously clicking away on his computer. I've no idea how long it will be before Rik's eating habits return to nearly nonexistent, but in the meantime, it's always nice to see people caring for one another.

R#42

Enough to Stay Out All Night

2011-03-08T19:27:00.001-05:00

“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.

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“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.