As we step through the front door, I can’t help but notice Henry’s gawking expression. He’s staring up at the ceiling and admiring my furniture like it’s the most foreign thing to him. It’s not even as if this is his first time coming over; he always does this. The fact that he has the same reaction every time astounds me almost as much as my house astounds him.  

“I always forget that you’re rich,” Henry mutters, his gaze finally dipping back down to look at me.  

“Well, you get used to it.” 

“I haven’t.” 

“Then you’ve never looked past it,” I tell him simply as I tug him through the living room. 

I start to head down the hall with Henry trailing behind me, but I’m stopped when I hear my father call my name from the kitchen.  

“Where do you think you’re going?” Pa asks as he moves out from around the corner.  

I step up to my father and explain myself, “We’re going up to my room.” 

He immediately raises his eyebrow. “No, you’re not.” 

I roll my eyes at him and protest because I know that Pa will bend into any argument I pose. “And why not? He’s been to my room dozens of times before.” 

Pa inhales sharply. “It’s different now.” 

“Not that different.” 

And Pa looks away from me and lets his gaze fall on Henry. Then he sighs, “Keep the door open.” 

And just like that, my father gives up. He doesn’t try to fight me, and he never will. He’s too caught up in himself to care. He likes to pretend that he has an opinion, but I personally don’t think he has much of anything anymore. I know he loves me and all, yet when it comes down to it, he never tries to stop me or my siblings from doing anything wrong. He knows what it’s like to have opportunities forcibly taken away, and he’d do anything to stop that from happening to his kids. Sometimes though, it goes too far, and he lets me go to my room alone with the boy I kissed.  

He’s stupid, but it works in my favor, so I don’t care to stop it.  

I smile at my father sweetly and turn back, dragging Henry through the hall and upstairs to my bedroom. Then, despite my father’s orders, I close the door behind us. Upon seeing this, a concerned look passes over Henry’s expression, and he shifts anxiously.  

“Won’t your father get mad?” he worries, but I grin and shrug it off.  

“Eh, probably not,” I say, walking over to Henry and sliding my hands onto his shoulders. 

Henry’s tension transforms into something different, but it’s equally as apprehensive. I can feel his heartbeat quicken its pace through his chest as he glances down at my hands.  

“James?” he whispers. 

“Mhm?” I look up at him through my lashes with a small smile, and he melts, glancing down at my lips. 

“C-can I—” 

“Yes,” I interrupt him with a hint of desperation in my voice. I grab onto the back of his neck and yank him down to my height whilst jumping onto my toes and pushing my mouth into his. Immediately his hands come up to carefully rest on my sides, but I’m not that gentle with him. He’s too afraid to assert himself, so I have to do it first, pulling him by the arms to my bedside while keeping my lips interlocked with his. I climb back onto my mattress, and Henry pulls himself up to hover over me, refusing to break our kiss for even a second.  

I put my hands through his soft red hair and feel it slip through my fingers smoothly. Suddenly the thought that I would be able to do this all the time occurs to me, and it makes me smile into the kiss, forcing our lips to finally break apart. Henry keeps his forehead pressed against mine and laughs quietly. 

“What are you smiling about?” 

“You’re mine,” I giggle. 

“What?” Henry smiles with me, his light brown eyes twinkling with admiration. 

“You’re mine,” I repeat, pecking him on the lips again. “And I get to kiss you whenever I want. Now, take your shirt off.”  

Henry’s face goes completely red, and he hesitates before sitting up to remove his jacket and sliding his suspender over his shoulders. Then he takes his shirt by the collar and pulls it over his head, tossing it over the side of the bed. His crucifix falls flat against his chest, and when he leans back over me, the bottom of it falls to brush my collar. I feel Henry’s hands skim up my sides to the center of my sternum, but he keeps his eyes locked with mine. He pushes a couple of his fingers between the buttons of my shirt and pauses, watching me intently for any sign of protest, but when I don’t make any move to stop him, he slowly continues, wrapping his fingers around the button and undoing it hesitantly. He then moves to the next one and then the next until he’s able to push my shirt back over my shoulders and pull it off my body.  

Then Henry leans back down and stares at me for a moment, letting out a shaky breath which reveals so plainly how nervous he is. I tilt my chin up slightly and take his lips into mine for a small kiss before parting us again. This seems to ease him a little bit, but I’m pretty sure I can his heart pounding. Or maybe that’s mine.  

I look down between us and take his necklace into my hand, rubbing my thumb across the surface. “I’ve never seen this kind of crucifix before.” 

“It’s from Ireland. My grandfather gave it to me,” he explains. 

“I just mean it’s different.” 

“Well, I’m a little different. I’m Celtic Orthodox, remember?” 

I scrunch up my nose. “Right, right. I keep forgetting … that you’re not American, I mean.” 

Henry’s eyebrows pull together. “I am American...” 

“Right, you’re just weird,” I mutter, leaning forward to capture him into a kiss. 

My best friend makes a stubborn noise against my lips and pulls back. “I’m not weird; if anything, you’re the queer one. Where’s your crucifix, huh?” 

“I’m not religious.” 

“I don’t understand that either.” 

I roll my eyes and pull Henry down to kiss me again. He sighs into my mouth and relaxes against me. Then he moves his lips down my jawline and onto the side of my neck. I gasp and wrap my hand around his talisman, pulling him closer. His tongue flicks out against my skin, and I accidentally yank down on the leather string around his neck. He grunts in surprise and grabs my hand.  

“Careful,” he hisses. “That’s a relic.” 

I smile. “Sorry.” 

Henry goes to connect his lips back to my skin but freezes when he hears my father call my name from the living room. I grab onto his hair and guide his head down slightly, convincing him to continue. He obliges and kisses my shoulder tenderly.  

“I think your father is calling you,” he whispers between kisses. 

“I know.” 

“So shouldn’t we head down?” he asks, muffled by the way he’s tucked into my neck.  

“Should we? Yes. Are we? No,” I tell him, and he pulls away from me once again. It ticks me off a little bit. 

“Can you quit that?” I ask him. “Just kiss me.” 

Henry frowns. “I will once you answer this. Why do you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

“Why do you disobey your father like that?” 

“I still don’t understand. What do you mean?” 

“Well,” Henry falters, “if I did that, my father would beat my ass until I passed out.” 

“Don’t swear,” I say, avoiding his question and reaching up to place my hand on his cheek.  

Henry leans into it affectionately, and I sit up to kiss him. He grabs onto my body and holds me close against him, deepening our kiss and making my heart flutter. Henry moves his head up and nudges my chin backward with his. I let him do it because it feels nice, and it distracts me enough that I don’t notice the sound of my father’s footsteps coming upstairs until it’s too late and the door swings open. 

“James Otto Mark, I thought I said to keep this open,” Pa growls, and Henry jumps off of me.  

He starts to stutter, trying to come up with some excuse as to what we were doing, but what he doesn’t notice is that my father does not care.  

“I’m fourteen!” I counter. “I’m old enough to move out of here, so I can do what I want.” 

My father huffs, and his hand tightens on the handle of my door. “Get downstairs. Your brother has an announcement that he wants us all to hear. I guess bring Henry too; it’d be rude to leave him up here alone.” 

Then he turns away and starts to leave the room. I remind him to close the door as he goes, and surprisingly he listens, pulling the door shut behind himself. I scoff and turn back toward Henry to see him still wide-eyed and panicked.  

“Y-your father, he-he saw us, but...” he rambles, still staring at the doorway where my Pa stood just moments before. 

I smile and take Henry’s hand into mine. “Don’t worry about it. He understands. He lost his lover in the Civil War.” 

Henry gives me a nervous half-smile. “The what?” 

“The northern states had a war with the southern states over whether or not slavery should be legal. The north won, and so slavery was outlawed, which is why you don’t see slaves around anymore. But anyway, Tom, my father’s dearest, was killed while in battle.” 

“Your country had a war with itself?” 

“I thought you said this was your country too,” I teased him then continued, “but yeah. Well, first the South split off to form its own country, but yeah.” 

Henry stared at me in confusion for a second. “What? How come I haven’t heard about this before?” 

“Because the South is still too sensitive to talk about their defeat. Look, it’s complicated to explain, especially if you’re not from here, and I really don’t feel like trying,” I complain, and Henry gets that irritated look on his face. 

“I am from here!” he argues. “Only my Da is from somewhere else.” 

“Well, judging by how much you know about America, you might as well have come straight from the isles,” I joke, changing my voice to a mocking Irish accent halfway through my sentence.  

Henry cringes at my horrible imitation of his slight lilt. “I don’t sound like that.” 

“Yeah, you do,” I kid, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Now, get dressed, and c’mon. My brother has got something to say.”