He kisses me. Like, actually kisses me. 

This straight guy I’ve been hanging out with who is experiencing immeasurable grief kisses me.

Or, maybe not straight? No, you know what, not important. 

I kiss him back. And it is perfect, but. 

I pull away.

“A-are you sure you want to do this? I mean, your Nana just died, are you okay with this?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry.” He looks down, fidgets a bit. 

“No, no. It’s totally fine, I mean, it’s more than fine, I’ve been wanting to do that, like, since we met but like. Just, considering your current situation? I thought maybe we should talk about it? Also, we can, like, absolutely forget about it if you want to, I don’t want it to be weird between us now.” I realize I’m rambling too late, but I shut up anyway. 

“Uh, yeah, you’re right, I just- Thank you. For everything.” His expression is so earnest, I can’t. 

“Of course! Always.” I press my body closer to him, soaking up his warmth and sharing some of mine with him. 

He looks up at me. And then he drops a bomb on this conversation, and my mind is thoroughly blown.

“It’s just, I, well. I’ve had a massive crush on you since I first saw you. And, uh, at first it was ‘cause you’re, like, so cute oh my god” - I blush at that - “but then I got to know you, and you’re just, like, amazing. And so, uh, yeah. It, um, wasn’t a mistake is what I’m trying to say. And I definitely don’t want to forget about it. Unless you do.”

What. “Really?” 

He just nods, and his eyes well up once more.

And then I feel like I have to tell him about my crush on him, too. “I, well, I started having a crush on you, probably, like, after the movies? And then I just, y’know, couldn’t stop thinking about you, so. Here we are.” I let out a nervous laugh and look away, but he (gently, ever so gently) guides my head back so that green gazes at me, and I’m forced to get lost in it, drown in the sea of his irises. He plants a soft, tentative kiss on my cheek, then sits back against my headboard, and pulls me into him. 

I peer up at him (this height difference is the best and the worst all at once). “Do you want to talk about your Nana?”

“Yes,” he breathes, and looks down at me, and there’s a bit of that spark in his eye. I didn’t even realize how much I missed it until now, when it’s back where it belongs. 

“What was she like?”

I am not prepared for the volcano of word vomit that erupts from the boy in my bed.