Josh

When I agreed to that kiss, I was about ready to implode and cease to exist.

Let me explain: it wasn't like I'd never kissed anyone-- almost everyone at our boarding school had gotten a summer girlfriend at some point-- but I'd only ever kissed girls. And Ezra was a lot of things, but the one thing he definitely was not was a girl.

And what made me want to implode-- what made me want to stop existing, what stopped me in my tracks and made me rethink my entire existence, was that I didn't really mind much.

Sure, Ezra was a guy, but... it wasn't like he was a dude-bro type. He was clever, and smart, charming and kind and more cheerful than I would've expected from a goth kid.

And, goddamn it... I could admit to myself that he was actually kinda cute. In the right lighting. Wearing the almost-too-big letterman jacket I'd given him...

I didn't have much time to ponder, even though those few seconds felt like a million years in some ways, because Ezra leaned in, chocolate-brown eyes almost impossibly big, not quite enough for our lips to be touching, but enough that when he asked, "Are you sure you want to?" in a whisper, I felt his breath on my mouth.

"I'm sure," I whispered back, before the 'rational' side of my brain could interrupt and propose a better idea for a response.

"Okay."

As he pressed forward even more, I felt his smile against my own mouth, mistletoe brushing both of our foreheads.

The kiss lasted no more than two, three, four seconds, but when Ezra finally backed off, the room had been cleared of everyone except myself, him, my brother, and my brother's girlfriend, who was still waving the mistletoe around.

Ezra wiped off his mouth, laughing. "I can taste the eggnog. Eugh." He had discovered that he didn't much care for eggnog, and I'd had his in addition to mine.

Not really my fault, I thought. And besides, I can taste your hot chocolate, too...

I realised after a couple more seconds that I hadn't responded. "Oh, uh... sorry."

"It's fine," he assured me, still chuckling a little. "It was a joke." He paused. "Thanks for cooperating-- though I could phrase that better, I'm sure."

"Yeah, no problem," I mumbled.

The rational side of my brain decided to chime in with its own perspective on the situation: You have just made the biggest mistake ever, Joshua Preston.

Kissing Ezra Abramov was a bad, bad idea.

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I'd never shared a room before boarding school.

Now, I didn't fall asleep until I'd convinced Ezra not to sleep in the living room.

"I don't know," I'd told him when he asked why. "It's something about you, I guess. I sleep better."

He'd just smiled a little and took my arm, taking me upstairs.

-+-+-+-+-+-

"Psst."

"What?" I asked in a whisper, glancing at the floor of the room.

Ezra's head popped up over the side of the bed, up to the end of his nose, but no further. "The floor's cold."

"I'm sorry."

"Can I join you?"

"What?"

"In your bed... I'm cold, Josh."

I wasn't sure where this was going. "You want to... sleep in my bed with me?"

"Yeah. I mean..." He paused, and finally stood up a little more.

I didn't remember him having bare shoulders.

He continued, almost careful. "...don't you want me to join you in your bed?"

"I..." I couldn't finish the sentence. Did I want him in my bed?

I realised... a part of me did.

The part that wasn't sure about it prevented me from uttering a single word about it.

"That's not a 'no'," Ezra reasoned, and as I sat up in my bed, he climbed in with me.

I expected him to sit next to me, lay next to me, whatever. I didn't expect what he actually did-- straddled my waist, in all his off-the-shoulder-sweater- and exercise-short-clad glory, his forearms resting on my shoulders.

I still didn't speak, shell-shocked.

"You okay, Josh?" he asked. There was a concerned note to his voice, and he leaned in even more. I could almost feel his breath on my face, like I had earlier...

I gulped. "'M fine."

"You sure?" he asked, a little quieter. "You seem like you're expecting something..." He leaned in enough that I was staring straight into his eyes. The moonlight through the window created a glint in the brown pools.

"I'm not," I insisted.

He chuckled a little, and as he pressed in to kiss me the second time in a day, I felt him say quietly, "I wouldn't be so sure..."

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I sat up as I woke up, the kind of thing that only happens in cheesy made-for-TV teen movies. I glanced over at Ezra, still asleep on my family's air mattress, curled up in the fetal position.

He was shivering, whimpering. I'd seen it before, and even as I dropped to the floor by his side to help, I was thinking about the dream.

I was still in that foggy mindset, the time when the universe decides whether or not your dream was one to bother remembering. I remembered the basic details-- Ezra, my bed, me, the kiss-- but the finer points were blurs, things I couldn't quite put my finger on.

I pondered over it as the details cleared up, even as I rubbed the middle of Ezra's back and his breathing evened out.

"I don't know how you handle it, Ez," I admitted, mostly to myself. "I don't know how you handle being gay. I've barely gotten a taste, and I feel like it's thrown me completely off-kilter..."