It’s been a week. Still can’t shake it. That day—that godawful day—it’s rotting in my head. Bitter taste I can’t spit out.

 

Jamie.

 

I don’t blame him. Not really. Sure, nobody shoved a bottle in his hand. Nobody made him cook it. But nobody gave him a reason not to, either. And now... now he’s sick.

I used to think addicts were losers. People who didn’t care. Some are. But probably most just got broken. Hurt. Alone. No help. They found something that made it stop hurting. And it poisoned them.

Some want to quit. Like Jamie. But they don’t know how. Or it’s too late.

I see him under a bridge in my head. Needle. Shaking hands. Turning tricks for another hit. My stomach flips. God, I think I’m gonna be sick.

Chris thinks about it. Tracy too. I can tell. She’s been quiet. Staring at nothing. I know what’s running through her head. She didn’t see it coming like I did. She’s the one who found him. Thought he was dead.

I told her to tell Mom. She said it was just the shock. Yeah. No shit. I hope she’s right, though.

At least... I guess... it pulled the three of us closer. Tracy has been a bit of a third wheel. It’s okay, I guess she feels better with us, even though we don’t really talk about it. But we know we’ve got each other’s backs. And that’s everything.

And because life isn’t all a pile of shit all the time, yesterday was... amazing.

Tracy was sprawled across my bed, one leg hanging off, flicking through something on her phone. Every now and then, she turned the screen toward us to show a meme, usually accompanied by a dramatic gasp or a snort. The kind of lazy afternoon stitched together from laughter and leftover energy.

Chris sat on the floor, back leaning against the bedframe, a half-full glass of Coke in one hand. I was beside him, head resting in his lap, his free hand lazily playing with a couple strands of my hair.

I grabbed a chip from the crumpled bag between us and, without thinking, placed it between his lips. He munched it happily, eyes still on the meme Tracy had just shoved in his face.

“Chips, please?” Tracy said, reaching blindly in my direction.

I reached back into the bag... and came up with nothing. My fingers scraped foil. Empty. That wouldn’t go over well.

“We’re out.”

Tracy’s head shot up. “You literally just fed him the last one without even asking.”

Her voice was mock-dramatic, theatrical, but still playful.

“Oh no,” she sighed. “I can’t believe it. The time has come.”

Chris chuckled softly. I frowned, unsure where she was going with this.

“I’ve been replaced by the boyfriend,” she declared, placing a hand over her heart like she was about to faint.

The room went still. The air shifted.

Chris adjusted slightly beneath me but didn’t speak. I didn’t either.

Tracy’s voice came again, slower this time. “...Wait. You are boyfriends, right? You are dating.”

I hesitated. “We... kind of skipped that part, actually.”

I’ve been wanting to ask him about it. If it's okay to say he’s my boyfriend. But there’s always something happening.

I glanced up at Chris. He was staring into his glass of Coke.

“I mean—we’ve kinda been acting like it, haven’t we?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said, meeting my gaze. “We have.”

The word felt strange in my mouth, not in a bad way. Just big. Like it belonged to someone more sure of themselves. But I didn’t want to take it back.

Tracy groaned into my pillow. “Unbelievable. You boys are a walking coming-of-age movie.”

She smirked at us from the bed. “For the record, you’re cute together. Gross. But cute.”

That made me laugh—a full, unexpected sound. Chris laughed too, quietly. He reached down and brushed a strand of hair from my face.

I still can’t believe it. I have a boyfriend.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I asked, trying to sound annoyed and failing. “Go be a nerd or something. Call Matt. Knit a scarf.”

“Wow,” Tracy said, standing with a stretch. “Just like I said. Replaced. Forgotten. Shame.”

She headed to the door, pausing dramatically. “But yeah, sure. You two lovebirds knock yourselves out.”

Another smirk. “Just keep it quiet.”

I grabbed a pillow and hurled it at her. “Out!”

She cackled and closed the door behind her, her laughter fading down the hall.

I sighed. “Sorry about that. She’s insane.”

Chris smiled. “I really like her. You’re lucky, you know? I always wanted a sibling.”

“I got lucky,” I said, leaning back on my hands. “Could’ve gone either way.”

He nodded.

“C’mere,” I said, giving my lap a little pat.

Chris shifted and climbed onto my lap, facing me. I wrapped my arms around his waist, adjusting until the fit felt right, like we were two puzzle pieces that finally clicked.

He leaned in and kissed me. It wasn’t rushed or cautious. It felt like something he’d been holding back all day. I know I had.

We stayed like that for a while—slow, steady, quiet kisses in a calm room. Too calm, maybe. It gave us the dangerous illusion that we were alone.

My hands slid lower, keeping him close. His fingers trailed up my thigh. Almost there. Just a bit more to the left...

Our breathing grew heavier, like we’d just sprinted up a hill. In socks. On tile.

“Troy?” he whispered.

“Mmh?”

He pulled back slightly, and I froze.

Then he smiled. “What if someone comes in?”

Honestly? I almost said then fuck it.

“We can lock the door?” I offered, unsure if I was asking, suggesting, or begging.

He tilted his head, studying me. “Okay. I’ll lock it.”

Hell yeah!

He stood and padded to the door, locking it quietly.

This was risky business. If my mom found me locked in here with my “best friend,” there were really only two things we could be doing: drugs... or each other.

But Mom was working downstairs. Dad was still at the office. And Tracy—well, we had an agreement. If Chris was over and the door was closed, she had to text me before knocking. Just in case.

He came back and settled into my lap again, like we’d hit unpause.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he said, sighing. “You always manage to convince me.”

“You can go unlock the door again,” I teased, holding up my hands. “I’m not stopping you.”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed me.

I love it when he shuts me up like that.

And slowly, we found the rhythm again. I wasn’t in a hurry—I just wanted to see where this went. Where we went.

This time, his hand didn’t stop midway. Neither did mine.

He exhaled against my neck, a soft, desperate sound that sent goosebumps racing down my back.

I’d done this stuff before. But not like this. I wouldn't look them in the eyes, just stared at what was happening, or closed my eyes.

With Chris was different. I wanted to look at him. I wanted to see everything.

So this felt like starting over. Like rediscovering something I didn’t know I’d been missing.

I moved my hand to the button of his jeans, holding it there for a moment. Just in case.

He looked at me, and then undid it himself.

He fumbled with mine for a second, then laughed nervously. I grinned and helped him out.

I wanted him to know this was okay. More than okay.

I slid down slightly against the bedframe. It was a terrible position, honestly. But I didn’t want him anywhere else.

I reached for him, and he let out a shaky breath—one that seemed to echo all the way through him.

His mind went blank for a second. I could tell. Just watching him come undone like that because of me... it was kind of breathtaking.

When he came back to himself, he reached down and undid my fly. His hand was warm, tentative. Nervous. Or maybe he was just too distracted by what I was doing to him.

I wrapped my hand around his and guided it.

“Like this,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Casual.

“Oh, sorry.” He locked eyes with me. Focused. “Like this?”

“Yeah...” It came out more like a moan than a word.

Fuck.

My brain flatlined in the best way.

I reached over, opened the bedside drawer, and grabbed a tube of lube. Yes, I’m that person. Sue me. At least it’s not hand cream.

After that, it didn’t take that long. I was getting too close. So I slid lower against the frame, pulled up my shirt, and bit the hem. Skin’s easier to clean, right?

His left hand dragged down my chest to my waist. He gripped me, and I have never felt so turned on in my entire life.

Then his breathing sped up, his movements more urgent, and he whispered, “Don’t stop.”

I didn’t.

And neither did he.

 

***

 

I don’t really have words to describe it. That experience.

No fireworks. No music swell.

Just two dumb boys, tangled up on the floor, making it up as we went.

And that was exactly how I wanted it to go.

To just happen because it felt right. Because we both needed it. Wanted it so badly we couldn’t wait any longer.

Not some staged thing, scheduled and stiff. Not something weighed down by pressure or fake intensity.

It was imperfectly perfect.

He stayed over for dinner. I didn’t want to take him home right after. I wanted a little more time with him—time to let it all sink in.

At the table, we couldn’t stop smiling every time our eyes met.

It felt like a secret only we knew.

And I’d never had anything like that before. Not with anyone.