"What do you want to be when you grow up, Shorty?", Jake asked, pausing up the movie, as we laid in his bed, side by side, making me frown at the stupid nickname he had bestowed me. It was a Sunday evening and the two of us were watching TV like it has become a custom for us in the past few months.

After that first art class when I had asked to sit with him, we became friends. Jake was indeed older than me, one year to be exact, the fact I found out during that same class, as Jake never stopped talking, not even when the teacher came in, not that she minded much, as I quickly discovered that everyone loved Jake.

It was Jake's junior year of High School and he was a football star and insanely popular. He was also the son of the town's preacher, and that fact alone made him the golden boy in everybody's mind.

In the beginning, I felt vary of Jake's attention since I couldn't understand why he would want to spend all of his free time with someone like me when everyone in the whole damned town would give their right arm just to be seen in his presence, but I soon came to realize that Jake hated that.

He hated the attention, and as he would later confess, the constant feeling of being watched. He felt like he always needed to be on his best behavior, never allowed to make a mistake unless he wanted to disgrace his father.

We were very much different. Jake was loud and goofy, not to mention very good looking and I was, well, plain, boring, as many have informed me. But somehow we clicked.

Jake adored my paintings, even though he pretended not to and he was actually really smart. When the two of us were together there was never a moment where we didn't have anything to talk about. It was natural, being with Jake, and I was of course, hopelessly in love with him.

I had realized that I was gay when I was fourteen years old. I remembered that moment when the realization finally came, as all the little things that I had done or thought about finally clicked into place.

It was a school day just like any other, and the last class of the day was PE. The teacher had asked me to stay a bit after the class because I was dangerously close to failing since my hand-eye coordination was nothing short of dreadful, something that was still an issue, and the teacher wanted us to talk about what I could do in order to pass the class.

After a half an hour of the man's droning on about the importance of physical education as I nodded at every word he said while wondering what my mom was making for dinner, the teacher finally relented either because he ran out of things to say or because he finally realized that I hadn't heard a word he said, so he let me go.

I all but ran into the locker rooms, eager to just get out of there as soon as possible, not expecting anyone to still be there. But I was wrong since as soon as I stepped into the room I heard a muffled sound coming from the back of the room.

Being a curious fourteen-year-old boy, I, of course, decided to investigate and that's how I found myself staring at the football star of our high school, Malcolm Jackson, being sucked off by the head cheerleader, Cassandra Erickson.

It was a dream come true to see the hottest girl in school doing that, especially for a hormonal teenager like myself, but as I walked back home that day, or more like limped my way there, I realized that I hadn't looked at her for even a second the whole time I was there.

On the contrary, my eyes seemed glued to the pronounced ridges of Malcolm's abs, the muscles contracting with every move of Cass's head, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to step closer and touch them.

I went into denial mode very quickly, but after a few months and countless wet dreams of Malcolm's abs I finally gave up. I was gay and there was nothing I could do that would change that. Once I accepted my fate, I came out to my parents, receiving a hug from both of them, not that I expected anything less since my father's best friend was gay as well.

But they were also the only ones that knew since I didn't have any friends, so coming out to the student body in my old school seemed pointless, and now, when I did have a friend, he was the last person I could tell.

"I don't know.", I mumbled eventually, snapping back from the memories while avoiding Jake's gaze because I knew that the blond would know that I was lying as soon as I looked him in the eyes.

"Don't lie to me, George. I can tell when you do."

"No, you can't!", I said, even though I was pretty much sure Jake was right.

"Yes, I can. Your nose does this weird thing. You would suck at poker, my friend."

Jake was right about that, of course, I did suck at poker, which was the reason why I never played it when my parents organized their game nights. And he was right about the other thing, too.

I did know what I wanted to do after school, but I had made a crucial mistake of telling my parents once and they had laughed at me and told me to stop dreaming and choose something realistic, like being a doctor or an engineer. So you can understand why I felt reluctant to tell Jake.

"I don't want to tell you because you'll just laugh at me. And stop calling me Shorty! It's not my fault that everyone else is freakishly tall, Jake."

"We are not, and yes you are, Shorty. But stop changing the subject and tell me. I won't laugh, I promise.", Jake said while looking at me with those big puppy eyes of his, and I cursed myself for being so soft as I felt my resolve crumbling to dust.

But I knew that the blond was truthful. Actually, when I thought about it some more I realized that Jake had never laughed at anything I said, so I conceded.

"I'll tell you, but you have to tell me first."

"Okay! I want to be a football star and to play at the Super Bowl one day.", he said with a smile that showed off his perfect, white teeth. I rolled my eyes at that, feeling cheated out because I should have seen that one coming, but a deal was a deal.

"I want to be a famous artist. I want everyone to know my name and to open my own gallery one day."

I looked down at my fingers that were playing with the zipper of the hoody I had stolen from Jake a while ago, while I waited for his reaction.

After a few quiet moments, I felt Jake's fingers under my chin, making me look up as the skin beneath them started to tingle slightly from the contact. Jake was smiling at me, his blue eyes warm and gentle, and the sight made my heart start beating faster.

"You will. I know that you think that it is just a dream, but I am absolutely sure that you will do all those things, George. And once you open your gallery, which better be called 'Jake's', I will be there to support you.", he said, making me let out a breath and a small chuckle.

"And when you play at the Super Bowl I will be there to cheer for you.", I said making Jake nod like an over-excited puppy before we shook hands on it and laughed.

Afterword, we went back to watching the movie, reclaiming our places side by side, my whole body singing from his proximity, and I relished in it. When I saw Jake's eyes starting to droop after a while I made him get under the blankets and turned off the TV.

"Hey, Jake?", I whispered into the darkness, not wanting to wake him up in case the boy had already fallen asleep.

"Yeah?", came the mumbled up response from somewhere deep beneath the blankets.

"You don't really expect me to name my gallery after you, right?"