Every second of those two hours on the hood of the car was permanently etched into Griffin’s mind. When Charlie dropped him off at home afterward, he was buzzing with energy – the buoyant kind that makes your chest feel lighter, and your face go numb. He tiptoed into his room, making sure not to wake his mother, and collapsed onto his bed.

He laid there for a while, still in Charlie’s grey pullover, replaying vignettes from the last two hours like spools of film being fed to a projector.

He replayed the warmth of Charlie’s body next to his beneath the blanket, and the sheer exhilaration of being so close.

He pictured the wide-eyed grin that stayed plastered to Charlie’s face during the entire movie.

He relived Charlie holding up a kernel that had spilled onto his shirt, and feeding it to him – casually, never even pulling his eyes away from the film as Griffin’s lips grazed his fingertips.

That moment was stoking a fire in Griffin’s temples, and the center of his chest, and on the crest of his lips.

He let himself sit with it. He committed it more deeply to memory – the saltiness of the popcorn, the coolness of the night air, the topography of Charlie’s fingertips as interpreted by his lips.

He laid there for a while longer.

And when he next opened his eyes, the sun was filtering in through the blinds – bright, and cozy, and warm like the memory he was waking from.