Swing for the Fences

by Little Buddha

Chapter 20

Mr. G stopped by early on Saturday morning to give me my pill. Jack and I were still tangled up in the sheets, our legs knotted together under the blanket. His head was resting on my shoulder, hair warm and mussed from sleep. For a second, as Mr. G stepped into the room, my breath caught – I worried he might say something, that this comfort I was clinging to might be taken the wrong way.

But instead, he just looked at us with that steady, understanding expression of his. He ruffled our hair with his big hand – mine first, then Jack's – and said gently, "Get some more sleep, boys."

I smiled faintly as the door clicked shut. It was as if he knew exactly how much I needed Jack right now.

An hour later, the peace was shattered when our door exploded open with a chorus of voices.

"Oh my god, look at them!"

"Still snuggled like puppies."

"They're so in love!"

I just groaned.

Mark, Emery, Jonah, Christian, and Danny stood in a loose pile in the doorway, grinning like hyenas and tossing around exaggerated "awwwws" like confetti. Jack mumbled something that sounded like a curse and pulled the blanket over his head while I sat up, rubbing my eyes and trying to suppress a smile.

Still a little groggy from my meds, I managed to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. I yanked the blanket off Jack and tugged him by the arm until he grudgingly got up and started getting dressed too. I couldn't blame Jonah, either, for proclaiming "Nice butt!" when I saw that Jack's boxers had ridden halfway down his waist sometime during the night. Well, it was a nice butt!

In the dining hall, just as I was cradling a large cup of coffee and starting to feel slightly more human, my heart jolted. Noah was there – alone, sitting at the far end of the room, hunched over a bowl of Rice Krispies like they might be whispering state secrets to him. He looked paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes, his spoon dragging slowly through the milk. At some point, he looked up and our eyes locked – but only for a second. I turned away like I'd touched a hot stove. But a small part of me felt bad for him. He'd been pretty thoroughly ostracized, probably more because he got caught fucking Jeff Purdell of all people. I mean, gross.

The sedative I'd taken that morning dulled the sharp edge of my panic, but my stomach still turned as I grabbed a tray and moved through the buffet line. I piled on corned beef hash, cheesy scrambled eggs, and a toasted bagel smeared with cream cheese, topped with lox, red onion slices, capers, and a couple of bright tomato rings. Something about the ritual of it – assembling a perfect breakfast – helped calm me.

Back at our table, the vibe was more chaotic than usual. Danny and Jonah were engaged in a full-on battle over why cherry tomatoes were called cherry tomatoes.

"I'm just saying," Danny argued, pointing with his fork, "they don't taste like cherries. They don't look like cherries. It's false advertising."

Jonah leaned back dramatically. "That's capitalism, babe."

Danny went beet red.

I snorted into my orange juice just as Jonah leaned in and blew him a kiss. Maybe Jonah had finally found a new target for his flirtatious shenanigans.

After breakfast, we all bundled up in coats, scarves, and gloves for the day's outing – a trip to a local farm to fulfill some of our community service hours. Even with the freezing wind snapping at our ears, we were in good spirits. At the Grab-N-Go, we each grabbed sandwiches, chips, and fruit for lunch and piled into the van that took us to the farm.

By midday, our boots were caked in mud, and our hands were raw from hauling bales of hay and shoveling still steaming manure. When lunchtime rolled around, we found a spot inside one of the barns – quiet and warm enough to escape the worst of the wind. Mark had brought a thick wool blanket, which we spread out on the hay-covered floor. The sun streamed in through the slats, striping the barn in dusty gold.

As I unwrapped my roast beef sandwich, I caught sight of Danny and Jonah sitting hip to hip, talking in low voices. Jonah had one arm resting behind Danny, who was blushing again, biting into his sandwich like it might save him from saying something dumb. I nudged Jack and gave a subtle nod in their direction.

Jack raised one eyebrow. I smirked.

"Well, it is kinda cute," I whispered.

" You're kinda cute," Jack whispered in response, causing me to blush.

That evening, after dinner at the dining hall and showers for all of us sweaty and dirty boys, Mr. G announced movie night, and we all scattered to change. Pajamas, of course, meant whatever was most comfortable – boxers, hoodies, oversized tees. The lounge filled quickly with the sounds of shuffling slippers and chip bags being opened. Jonah and Danny were sitting so close they might've shared a bloodstream. Jack and I took our usual spot beside each other on the floor, shoulders brushing. I noticed a few looks but tried not to read into them. It wasn't like we were doing anything.

Halfway through the second movie, I got up to use the bathroom and grabbed some Reese's Pieces from the stash in our room. The hallway outside was quiet, dimly lit. But just as I rounded the corner near the stairwell, someone stepped in front of me.

Noah … AGAIN .

His face was tight, eyes puffy and rimmed with red. "Please, Nick," he said, voice low and cracked. "Just… let me explain. I'm begging you."

I stared at him, heart thudding. "There's nothing to explain," I said, flatly. "So don't even bother."

I tried to walk past him, but he stuck his arm out, blocking my escape.

"C'mon, man, don't be such a—"

"A what, Noah?" I snapped. "A pussy?"

He looked stunned, like I'd slapped him.

Then came the voice.

"If anyone's a pussy here, it's you, Noah."

Christian. He always somehow managed to be in the right place, at the right time.

He emerged from the shadows near the stairwell, eyes narrowed, shoulders squared. There was something terrifyingly calm about him, like a loaded gun resting on a kitchen table.

"I thought we already had this conversation," Christian said, his tone deadly quiet. "Don't make me hit you so hard this time that they have to wire your jaw shut. Although…" – he tilted his head – "at least that would finally shut you up."

He stepped forward and shoved past Noah, slamming his shoulder into him so hard that Noah stumbled into the wall with a thud.

"Let's go," Christian said to me, grabbing my arm and guiding me toward the stairs.

"Please don't say anything to the others," I whispered once we were out of earshot. "I'll probably have to talk to him eventually. Just to get him to back off."

Christian looked at me like I was from another planet. "You don't owe him anything , Nick."

I tried to lighten the mood. "You're my hero, Christian."

He rolled his eyes. "You say that like it's news."

Back in the common room, we caught the last hour of the movie. When it ended, Jack and I went back to our room, yawning.

A few minutes later, Mr. G knocked gently and let himself in. He handed me my pill with a small smile. "Good night, boys. And just so you know – it's perfectly fine to lean on each other. Figuratively or literally. It's all good."

As he left, I felt the tension in my chest start to loosen just a little.

I woke up suddenly to the sound of thunder cracking like a whip outside the antique windows, followed by rain pounding down in heavy sheets – sharp and relentless, like machine-gun fire against the glass. It was just barely warm enough for rain instead of snow, a rare February thaw that would probably last all of two days. Still, it was a welcome – if temporary – break from the monochrome misery of Michigan winter.

I blinked into the soft gray light filtering through the curtains. My heart was still racing from the shock of waking, my skin clammy beneath the covers. The radiator hissed and clanged somewhere near my feet. I glanced over at Jack's bed.

Empty.

I sat up, anxiety twisting in my chest. Please tell me he didn't go out into that storm to get breakfast.

A few moments later, there was a light knock on the door.

"You awake?" Danny's voice came through, uncertain and muffled. The door creaked open slightly, and he peeked inside, his brown hair mussed from sleep, and his sweatshirt sleeves pulled over his hands. "It's kinda hard to sleep during this storm."

"Yeah, no kidding," I said, pushing back the blankets. "Come in, if you want. You can sit on Jack's bed – it hasn't been slept in for a few days."

Danny arched his eyebrows, clearly intrigued.

Danny stepped in tentatively and perched on the edge of Jack's mattress like he was afraid it might bite him. He looked around the room, eyes landing briefly on my still-unmade bed before darting away.

"So…" I said, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. "What's up?"

Danny shifted a little and tugged on one of his sleeves. "I dunno. I just thought… I came in at a weird time and all. Or at least that's the vibe I've been getting."

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. That would be the understatement of the school year."

He gave a short laugh and shrugged. "So, I figured maybe we should, like… ummm … get to know each other? Since you kind of seem like the… I don't know. The 'boss' around here?"

That made me laugh out loud. "The boss ? God, no. I'm not the boss of anything. I just kind of… got swept into this group last fall. Like debris in a flash flood. We all just sort of fell in together, like you fell in with us. Nobody's 'the boss' around here, except maybe Christian, since he's kind of like our big brother."

Danny laughed too, but blushed, looking down at his hands. "Oh. Okay. That's cool."

There was a beat of silence. Not quite awkward, but heading there.

Then he glanced up again. "Can I ask you something kind of weird?"

"Sure."

"Are you and Jonah… like… a thing?"

I blinked at him. Then burst out laughing again.

"Wait, what?" I said, still chuckling.

"That's just… what Jonah said," Danny added quickly. "I thought it was believable. You two seem close. And he's been kinda… cuddly with me lately. Not that I'm judging. It just made me wonder."

I shook my head, still grinning. "Jonah said what ?"

Danny flushed deeper. "That you guys were… together . I guess."

"That little goblin," I muttered under my breath. "No. We're not a thing . I mean, we're close. He's one of my best friends, and I love him like a little brother, but he's Jonah. That's just… how he is."

Danny looked relieved, but also a little confused. "So, is he even gay?"

I sighed. "Everyone has their own theories. He's never given a straight answer. But if I had to bet? Yeah. My money's on gay – or at least bisexual, or maybe 'Jonah-sexual.'"

Danny exhaled. "Okay. Cool."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why? Do you like him?"

Danny's eyes went wide. "I—I don't know. Maybe. I mean, he's funny. And he's really… different from anyone I've ever met. I really like his curly hair, and his eyes, and …"

"And the freakishly tiny butt?" I added.

If it were even possible, Danny blushed even more.

"But fair warning – Jonah flirts with everything . Trees. Lampposts. His calculus textbook. It's usually harmless. My best advice is to enjoy the snuggling – because he's amazingly cuddly – but if he wants something more than that, you'd probably have to wait for him to let you know. He's a little weird like that."

"Got it," Danny said, nodding like he was trying to memorize every word.

The door swung open again. Jack stepped into the room, absolutely soaked through, holding a dripping bag from the dining hall that had clearly seen better days.

"Jesus," I said. "Jack, what happened?"

"Storm," he mumbled. "Breakfast."

"Always the gentleman, my knight in shining armor," I declared, while Danny giggled like a teenage Japanese school girl.

Jack's hoodie clung to him like wet paper. His hair was plastered to his forehead. He looked like someone had dumped him in a lake. Bless his heart.

Then, without a word, he started peeling off his clothes right there in the middle of the room. His soaked shirt hit the floor with a heavy splat. Danny was staring, frozen like a deer in the path of an emotional trainwreck.

"Jeez, Jack," I said, eyes wide. "Shouldn't you at least wait for a first date before flashing him the peen?"

Jack snorted, recovered quickly, and grabbed a towel from his drawer, wrapping it around his waist with a theatrical flair.

"You're just mad you didn't get a private show," he said, grinning.

"I am not ," I muttered, though I was, in fact, extremely relieved that Danny was not the first person to see Jack's peen.

Danny fled a few minutes later, claiming he needed to finish his history reading, though I suspected he was fleeing for his emotional safety.

The rain didn't let up until late afternoon, so most of us stayed holed up in our rooms, catching up on homework or pretending to. I tried to focus on Chinese vocabulary drills, but mostly ended up rereading the same flashcard about soy milk.

When the skies finally cleared, we all headed to the dining hall together. The smell of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and gravy met us halfway down the path, and for once, nobody complained about soggy shoes.

We sat down at our usual table just as the dinner bell rang.

"Yorkshire pudding," Christian announced, poking his fork at the golden puff on his plate, "is just bread that wanted to be cake but gave up halfway."

"It's the Hot Pocket's British ancestor," Jonah declared, already halfway through his second helping.

"It's still better than whatever that 'cheesy mystery loaf' was last week," Mark muttered.

"I'm pretty sure that loaf had a pulse," Jack added.

"You all have terrible taste," Emery said. "This is peak comfort food."

After dinner, some of the boys returned to their rooms to study, while the rest of us crashed in the common room for another movie. Jack and I claimed the big purple bean bag chair, which practically swallowed us both, while Jonah sprawled across the couch with his legs casually resting in Danny's lap.

Danny looked like he might short-circuit. He glanced at me, wide-eyed.

I just smirked and shrugged.

When the movie ended, we said goodnight and made our way back upstairs. Jack and I took turns showering. As I stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying my hair, Jack leaned against the doorframe with a mischievous grin.

"We should shower together sometime," he said. "To conserve water. Think of Mother Earth."

I shot him a look. "You're deranged."

"Just environmentally conscious."

"Uh-huh."

I didn't exactly hate the idea, though. I'd turned him down a couple of times before, but now I was seriously thinking about it. I mean, Jack was a cute boy, I liked looking at cute boys (especially naked ones), so why not? Maybe the next time he asked, I'd say yes.

Back in our room, the lights were low, and the wind had finally gone still outside.

Jack turned toward me as I was pulling on a clean shirt.

"Hey," he said softly. "Wanna snuggle? Just for a bit?"

I hesitated. We snuggled all the time, but usually at night, right before bed. This felt different. This felt like… asking to be held just because. But I liked snuggling with Jack, so why not?

I nodded. "Sure."

He practically leapt into my bed. I climbed in beside him, and he immediately wrapped himself around me, his arms warm around my torso, his damp hair tickling my chin.

His hand began tracing lazy circles over my chest – gentle, rhythmic, calming.

"Does that feel good, Nicky?" he asked softly. I squeezed him tighter in response.

"Hey," I said after a few minutes of quiet.

"Yeah?"

"I talked to Danny this morning. About Jonah."

Jack groaned softly. "That was weird , right? Jonah saying you two were a couple?"

"Beyond weird and slightly psychopathic," I said. "But aside from that, wouldn't it be kinda cute if Jonah and Danny actually got together?"

Jack was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. Like, chaos gremlin and clueless cinnamon roll."

"Exactly."

"He better not break Danny's little heart, though," Jack murmured, his voice slowing.

"He won't," I said. "Jonah's one of the sweetest kids I know."

We both laughed quietly.

Jack's hand kept moving in slow, soft circles on my chest. I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of his hair, the warmth of his skin. My heartbeat slowed, tension unraveling with each stroke of his fingers.

"Don't stop," I whispered.

"I won't," he said, almost inaudibly. "I'd do this forever if you wanted me to."

And I drifted off like that – held, safe, and … treasured .

Later that week, I had my follow-up appointment with the psychiatrist. I was feeling a bit better – more like myself again, or at least a version of myself that could get through the day without feeling like I was constantly dragging my body behind me on a rope. The doctor agreed. He kept me on the same dosage of Zoloft but said it was time to start weaning off the Clonazepam. Half a pill, twice a day, for several days, and then stop altogether. I'd still have a few pills left afterward, just in case, but I figured I'd hang on to them like emotional insurance. Like the flare gun you hope you never need to use.

When I told my mom over the phone, she said she was proud of me. Jack, standing behind me, threw his arms around my chest and whispered, "Me too," before squeezing the air out of my lungs in a bear hug.

Still, I was restless. The week had felt long and heavy, even with the meds helping. I missed my mom. I missed Mr. Bojangles. I missed the sound of our old radiator that clanked louder than the school's and the little corner of my bed that dipped from years of use. I hadn't been home since New Year's, and now it was nearly the end of February.

Of course, if I were going, I wanted Jack to come with me.

There was a snowstorm on the horizon, so there wouldn't be much to do outside. But that didn't matter. Just being snowed in, lounging around the house in our underwear, watching movies, and eating whatever we could find in the freezer sounded... kind of perfect.

And then the most random thought popped into my head … what would it feel like to kiss Jack?

When I broke the news to the others that Jack and I would be gone for the weekend, they were disappointed in the most dramatic way possible.

"You can't just leave us," Mark said. "What if someone has an emotional crisis?"

"What if we start fighting about queer theory again?" Emery added.

"We'll cope," Christian said with a smirk, though he reached out and squeezed my shoulder. "But expect gossip when you get back."

"From Jonah ?" I asked, appalled. "We'll have to fact-check every word he says."

Danny, for his part, only blushed hard and kept quiet—especially after Christian joked that they were losing their "boss" for the weekend. Danny had once mistaken me as the group's "boss," and he'd been teased nonstop about it ever since.

On the drive home, the first flurries had already started to fall, making everything feel softer and quieter. The heater was cranked all the way up, and Blues Traveler was blaring from the stereo. Jack had never heard them before, which felt like a crime I needed to correct immediately. He leaned his head against the window and stared at the snow, occasionally mouthing the harmonica solos with theatrical intensity.

As soon as we got to the house, Mr. Bojangles launched himself at us like a forty-pound cannonball of joy, barking and wiggling so hard he almost knocked Jack over. After we dropped our stuff upstairs and changed into comfier clothes, the three of us – me, Jack, and my mom – headed out to dinner at Julie's Tavern, the faux Irish pub in town.

I devoured a whole basket of beer-battered fish and chips while Jack ordered the lamb stew and proceeded to make bleating sounds between spoonfuls.

"Please stop," my mom said, laughing into her water glass. "You're going to make me choke."

"I'm just honoring the lamb's memory," Jack replied solemnly. "May he rest in pieces."

Jack was so cute. Morbid, but hopelessly cute.

After dinner, we returned to the house full and sleepy, expecting a quiet night. But not five minutes after we walked through the door, my mom's pager buzzed. Her face fell as she looked at the number.

"ER's short tonight," she said with a sigh. "I've gotta head in."

Jack gave her a warm hug and told her to save a few lives for him. She kissed the top of my head and promised she'd be back in the morning.

After she left, I padded upstairs to shower. For a second – just a second – I thought about asking Jack to join me. Not even in a weird way. Just to be close. But I stopped myself. I still wasn't quite ready yet. And I was determined to take things slow. If anything was going to happen between us, I wanted it to feel right. Not rushed. Not confused. Just… right.

After our (separate) showers, we changed into our usual nighttime gear – underwear and socks. Except Jack, for once, had decided to wear a tiny pair of black briefs that made my brain short-circuit.

I nearly dropped my new phone.

"What?" he said, noticing me staring.

"Nothing," I squeaked. "Just… Jesus."

He smirked but didn't press. We pulled out the sofa bed in the basement, fluffed the old pillows, and climbed under the blanket. Mr. Bojangles jumped up and curled into a warm ball between us.

The first movie was The Matrix , which Jack narrated in a ridiculous cowboy accent the entire time. The second was Ferris Bueller's Day Off , and about halfway through, something shifted.

Jack turned toward me, his voice soft. "Hey… can I ask you something?"

"Yeah," I said, pausing mid-bite of popcorn.

He looked down at the blanket, his fingers tugging at the edge. "Would it be… okay if I kissed you?"

The question caught me completely off-guard.

My heart leapt. God, I wanted to. I'd thought about it so many times – lying in bed with him at school, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it would feel like. His mouth. His pink lips. His hands. Us.

But still, I froze.

I didn't answer.

Jack's eyes searched mine, and his voice was even quieter now. "Do you still like me… that way?"

I blinked, my throat suddenly dry. "Yes. Of course I do."

He smiled a little, but there was still hurt behind his eyes.

"Then why are you holding back, Nick?" he asked.

"I just…" I began, "I'm not ready yet. Not really. Not after… everything."

But even as I said it, I didn't believe it nearly as much as I used to. So, what was holding me back?

He reached over and touched my hand, gently. "It's okay. You don't have to explain. Take as much time as you need."

There was a pause.

"I do love you, Nick," he said, so quietly I barely heard it.

I turned to him and buried my face in his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around me, one hand coming to rest over my ribs. Slowly, tenderly, he began to rub my chest – soft, rhythmic strokes that calmed the storm inside me more effectively than any pill. I could feel his breath against my temple, warm and steady. Mr. Bojangles let out a small, contented sigh between us.

And in the warmth of that basement, with the snow piling high outside, I let myself drift into sleep, tucked into the arms of the boy who said he loved me, the kiss unspoken but still somehow promised.

On Saturday morning, the first thing I noticed was that Jack wasn't beside me.

The blankets were twisted, cool to the touch, and the empty space where his body should've been made the basement feel twice as cold and five times as lonely. I reached out instinctively, hoping maybe he'd just shifted in his sleep – but no. He was gone.

I lay there for a moment, blinking up at the low ceiling, listening to the muffled thrum of the house. It felt too quiet without his soft breathing, without the warmth of him pressed up against me. I shoved the covers off, pulled on a T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and made my way upstairs barefoot.

The smell of coffee hit me immediately – warm, earthy, and comforting. It drifted from the kitchen like a familiar song.

As I turned the corner, I stopped.

Jack was sitting at the table, still shirtless, his shoulders hunched slightly. My mom – still wearing her scrubs – sat across from him, her elbows on the table, her expression gentle and focused. Their voices were soft, but it was clear they weren't talking about homework or what movie to watch next.

"Mom?" I asked, voice rough from sleep. "What are you doing home?"

Jack jumped slightly, swiping a hand quickly across his face, and blinked up at me like he'd just remembered where he was.

"Got everything settled down early," my mom said, turning toward me with a small smile. "So, I figured I'd come home for a bit to see my boys before my next shift this afternoon."

Jack stood up abruptly, avoiding my eyes. "I'm gonna take a shower," he mumbled, already heading down the hall.

As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned to my mom, trying not to sound panicked.

"What's going on with him?"

She took a long sip of coffee before answering. "I think that's something you should ask him yourself. He's going through some things. He didn't tell me much, but… it sounds like his home life is worse than we thought … and maybe some other stuff too, that maybe teenage boys don't want to talk about with their moms around."

She winked. I cringed.

Then I felt something heavy settle in my chest.

"But Nick…" she said, reaching across the counter to touch my hand, "he absolutely adores you. Talk to him. He needs you right now."

I nodded, barely able to get the lump in my throat to budge.

A little later, after we'd both showered and changed, I suggested going outside to play in the snow. It was dumb – juvenile, maybe – but I needed to move. I needed to do something. Jack raised an eyebrow at the idea but didn't argue.

We layered up like Michelin Men – jackets, scarves, gloves, the works – and trudged out into the backyard. The snow was at least ten inches deep, soft and crunchy under our boots.

We started with a snowman, which turned out embarrassingly lopsided, with a carrot that wouldn't stay in place and one eye made from a bottle cap. My mom came out to snap a photo of us posing next to it like we'd built a masterpiece.

From there, we attempted a snow fort. That devolved into a full-blown snowball fight within minutes. I nailed Jack in the neck and he tackled me into a drift, both of us howling with laughter as we rolled around like complete morons.

After that came sledding down the slope behind the house – the hill was full of hidden rocks and half-buried branches. It was probably a terrible idea, but somehow, we made it through without a trip to the ER.

We stumbled back inside hours later, soaked, numb, and breathless with joy.

My mom had hot chocolate waiting for us – extra marshmallows, of course. Both of us sat on the couch, steaming mugs in our frozen hands, grinning like we'd just robbed a candy store.

"There's meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas in the fridge," my mom said as she gathered her purse. "You boys can put it in the oven when you're hungry. And don't let Jack microwave the peas again."

Jack saluted her. "Ma'am, yes ma'am."

Later that night, after dinner and some quiet time reading on opposite ends of the sofa bed, we got into our usual sleeping setup. Mr. Bojangles joined us for about ten minutes before letting out a series of gas-powered war crimes and being politely escorted back to his rug.

Jack and I lay in the dark for a long while, the only light coming from the flicker of the TV as Hubie Halloween played in the background. Neither of us was really watching.

Finally, I rolled onto my side and whispered, "Can I ask you something?"

Jack turned toward me. "Sure."

"This morning. With my mom. You were crying."

He stiffened. "It was nothing."

I waited.

He sighed. "Nick…"

"I know you don't want to talk about it," I said gently. "But I want to understand. Please?"

There was a long silence. Then, finally:

"My parents have been worse lately," he said, barely audible. "Worse than usual. Everything I do annoys them. Or disappoints them. Or pisses them off. And I'm so tired of trying to figure out what I did to make them hate me so much."

I suddenly felt so ashamed . I'd been so wrapped up in my own crisis for the past month that I hadn't really thought about Jack or what he might be going through. I was selfish .

I felt something twist in my chest. "Jack…"

"And," he added, quieter still, "I was upset about last night."

My breath caught. "Because I didn't kiss you."

He nodded slightly.

"I thought you wanted to," he said, eyes not meeting mine. "I thought we were both waiting for that moment. And when you didn't, I just… I felt stupid. Like maybe I'd made it all up in my head."

"Jack," I whispered, sitting up just enough to look at him. "I did want to. I do . I just… I'm scared."

He didn't speak, but I saw the question in his eyes.

"I'm scared of getting hurt again," I clarified. "Of letting someone in. After Noah… it's hard. But it has nothing to do with you. You're the safest person I've ever known."

Jack gave a tiny nod.

"I can't promise you when," I added, "but I promise it won't be long. And I do want to kiss you. I want to do a lot of things with you."

His voice, when he spoke again, was barely above a whisper. "I'd wait forever for you, Nicky."

We curled into each other then, our bodies close, warmth shared under the thick quilt. I reached over and gently pulled Mr. Bojangles back up onto the bed – he sighed, already forgiven, and nestled between our feet.

We let the movie continue playing as background noise.

A few minutes passed in silence, and then Jack asked softly, "Can I tell you something kind of embarrassing?"

"Always."

"That would've been my first kiss," he said. "Not just with a boy. Ever."

I blinked. "Wait – really ?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

I swallowed. My heart was thudding again.

Fuck it , I thought.

I shifted toward him and, without saying another word, I leaned in.

Our lips met – soft, warm, a little uncertain. Just a gentle press, but Jack let out the faintest, low moan against my mouth, and it lit me up from the inside.

I pulled back, searching his eyes.

He smiled.

So, I leaned in again.

The second kiss unfolded like a secret finally spoken. Slower this time – more deliberate, more sure. I brushed my tongue softly against his soft lips, and he let me in, hesitant at first, then with a quiet, breathy sigh that hit me like gravity. My fingers slid into his hair, anchoring me there, while his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me in like I was something he wasn't ready to let go of. We moved together like we had all the time in the world, like the ache of waiting had melted into this single, suspended moment. The room could've been spinning, the world could've been burning, and I wouldn't have noticed. All I knew was the way he tasted, the way he clung to me, and the overwhelming relief of finally, finally kissing him like I meant it – because I did. I really did.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, he smiled at me again – more vulnerable this time, his eyes filled with wonder.

"So, how was your first kiss?" I asked him, grinning.

"I didn't mess it up, did I?" he asked, with a nervous giggle.

"No," I said, my voice hoarse. "It was perfect. You're perfect."

And we lay there in the dim light, tangled up in warmth and silence, as the credits rolled and the world finally felt still.

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