It was June. Early in the month and hot. A time where the edges of spring and summer met, blurring together like a shimmering mirage in a desert. The colors seemed to vibrate in anticipation of the coming season, waiting to explode in a flurry of reds and oranges and vibrant yellows. Already the poppies were blooming, turning grassy fields a warm honey gold, their leaves a shock of green in between the petals.

Ozzie brought the joint back up to his lips, inhaling slowly as he watched a faint copper glow light up the tip. He held it for a beat, feeling the smoke slip smoothly down into his lungs before exhaling and passing it on. He grinned. That was good stuff. His body slumped back against the balcony wall. Outside it was raining. Hot and humid and he could smell it all, thoroughly protected from the wet by the balcony's awning.

The smoke curled in the air, dipping upwards between his pursed lips. It was James' idea to do this, sporting a fresh new tan and bag full of weed courtesy of his stint in Los Angeles. His most recent film had just finished shooting and he'd decided what the heck, let's pay Ozzie a visit. Ozzie vaguely remembered James saying something about this being the first week of Ozzie's summer vacation and to take proper advantage of it as he'd sauntered into his room before promptly flopping--falling--onto Ozzie's bed.

James' body was a long strip of sluggish arms and uncoordinated feet so Ozzie couldn't really say he'd been surprised when his friend had tripped during the two-step journey across the room. Classic James. Able to make teenage girls swoon without a word in a movie but barely able to cross a street on his own in real life.

Still Ozzie wouldn't complain. He wouldn't. In all honesty, it was one of the few things that still made him smile. It wasn't really like James had any other reason to come back to their boring middle of nowhere town in Northern California except for him. The thought made him grin even more dopily.

It'd been awhile since he'd been able to do this. Relax. He felt loose-limbed and content and something else, something close to happy.

James took a hit. His cheeks dimpled and his eyes crossed a bit as he tried looking at the joint between his fingers. His brow wrinkled. Ozzie wanted to reach over and smooth his hand across it. No one should look so serious when they were getting high. Even he was grinning. James breathed out and chuckled in Ozzie's direction, his ebony curls bouncing with the movement.

James tilted his head to the side.

"Wa's so funny?" Ozzie slurred.

James grinned. "Your face," he drawled, voice slow and low and even. It reminded Ozzie of someone thinking really hard about what they were going to say next. And not in a I'm-thinking-of-the-most-diplomatic-response kind of way but in a legitimate sort of I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-trying-to-say-so-let's-just-say-it-real-slow-like-so-they-won't-notice kind of way. James handed the joint back to Ozzie. "You look like you need to take a shit."

"Ay," Ozzie took back the joint and gave his friend the finger. His cheeks hollowed as he blew a smoke ring in his friend's face, "fuck you man."

James held his hands up in surrender. "What?! You do!"

"Yeah?" Ozzie rolled his eyes and took another hit from the joint before slouching back against the wall, "well whatever." He looked down at the joint between his fingers. The end was burning dangerously close to his fingertips. "You gonna finish this? Or...?" He left the question hanging in the air.

"Nah, you can," James said with a wave of his hand, "I can get more back in L.A."

Ozzie snorted. "Fuckin' movie star."

"Don't hate just 'cause you're jealous man."

Ozzie took one last long hit from the joint and stubbed it out on the ground beside him. He brushed his hair out of his face, the stringy black locks moving across his forehead and out of his eyes. He raised an eyebrow in James' direction, leveling him with his most deadpan look.

"What?" James blinked, "don't give me that look."

The corners of Ozzie's lips twitched upwards and he rubbed his thumb across them like the action could somehow hide the grin growing there. His stubble felt rough against his finger. Sighing, he slid down to the balcony floor, his hair fanning out around his face. His arms mirrored the movement.

"So," James cleared his throat, expression suddenly serious, "how was school this semester?"

Ozzie tensed. "Fine." He shrugged.

James turned to fully face him. "You know if people are giving you hard time again-"

"Things're okay, 'kay?" Ozzie flipped onto his side, lips pulling together in a taut line, "you don't need to worry about me."

James frowned. "I know, but after last year-"

"It's done okay?!" Ozzie bit out, "My dad helped me through it, explained some stuff to me, and Sam's been a real help with the whole low self-esteem thing. Just drop it."

James opened and closed his mouth before nodding and running a hand through his hair. "Okay..." he said, "just know I got you okay? If you need it? Even when I'm in L.A. I'm just a call away."

"I know," Ozzie hugged his knees to his chest. A pause, "M' sorry." He mumbled.

"It's 'kay," he scooted closer to Ozzie and wrapped an arm loosely around his shoulder. "What're friends for huh?"

This, Ozzie couldn't help but think. It would be so easy to just tell James the truth. Especially in this moment, with the sun setting and the last of spring rains dissipating into summer heat-waves. All of his feelings low and calm and mellow.

It would be so easy to tell him that sometimes when he tries really hard he can know things he isn't supposed to know. Secrets about people's lives and families from a single touch. Never touching the person themselves, but by holding their watch or necklace or the teddy-bear they've had since birth, he can see things, flashes of images, tidbits of sounds. Lies and truth's better left buried.

He could do it. He could let James, his best friend, the only person he could ever trust with his secret, in. He knows it would be a weight off his shoulders to have someone other than his father to confide in.

Ozzie looked down at the silver band inlaid with emerald wrapped around James finger. He could grab it. Close his eyes and tell him everything. Ozzie knew it would work too, because James never took that ring off. It had belonged to his mother before she ran off god knew where when he was eight. He was sure it was packed with memories.

"Everything alright?"

Ozzie blinked. James was looking at him with wide concerned eyes. He bit his lip.

"Fine," he said, "just- " His mouth opened-I know it'd seem crazy but I swear-his lips snapped shut. He couldn't do it. He can't do it. Not after Cynthia. Ozzie turned away hunching in on himself. "Never mind."

He heard James snort and some faint rustling as he repositioned himself beside Ozzie, a bag of Doritos in his hand. He took a bite, munching on a handful. "You're a shit liar Oz," he said around the mouthful of chips. Crumbs dusted the corners of his lips and his tongue peeked out to lick them away. "But okay, it's your birthday," he swallowed, sighing contentedly and leaning back on his arms. "I'll drop it."

"Thanks," Ozzie mumbled, scooting into a corner himself. It was comfortable, the silence and they stayed like that for a good few minutes as the rain picked up. Ozzie stared out at it, the sky a sea of endless gray while James lounged peacefully beside him, a humming sort of purr leaving his throat like a house cat's.

Sighing, Ozzie glanced over at the other boy as he sleepily smacked his lips. There was a patch of skin, pale like ivory and milky smooth peeking out from under James' shirt. Ozzie quickly looked away, wringing his hands in his lap. Guilty.

"S'when's the red-carpet gig?" Ozzie asked. "'Jamie Evans: Breakout star of 2013' right?" A small half smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

James scoffed and out of the corner of his eye Ozzie saw him scratch his forehead. "I wouldn't say that Oz. Movie's not even out yet."

"Come on," he said, nudging the eighteen-year-old with his foot, "you're Tony Stark, man, cocky and charming as fuck. Hollywood'll eat you up."

"Whatever you say Romanoff."

"Don't even, you know Black Widow is bad ass."

James grinned. "Johansson has a hot ass. I've seen it. Hollywood has its perks."

Ozzie snorted, shaking his head. "You're so full of shit."

"Got you to lighten up though," James said in that low drawn out way of his. "Figure that's gotta count for something."

Ozzie blinked, his chest suddenly feeling tight and warm and he's giddy like a school girl but at the same time dreading the feeling and-oh no-oh shit-he's seriously fucked now and-

Come on, Oz, it's the rebound talking, don't fuck seventeen years of friendship up over a rebound. You'll regret it and James will hate you and then you'll hate yourself even more and be girlfriendless and best-friendless and holy shit you're going to do it anyway-

He wasn't consciously aware that he was leaning in, just that James' eyes were closed so he had no idea that Ozzie was licking his lips nervously right above him, so close, but not close enough-

Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it-

But he had to. His body was trembling, with it, with the same twisted sense of self-loathing that urged him out of art when he was fourteen. The same self-loathing that made him punch Devi Davis in the face in the ninth grade for sneering at his sneakers. His fucked life. In hindsight, it was no surprise Cynthia cheated on him. All he seemed to be able to do was fuck shit up. Tear it all down. Rip it all to shreds. Destroy and maim and wreck until nothing good remained. Until all that was left was a bleeding battered skeleton in a wasteland of his own making.

Heart in his throat, hands clammy with sweat, he breathed a simple, desperate and broken 'James', his weedy breath brushing over James lips and-

James was looking now. He knew it. Could see it in how James' loose body was suddenly tense and this was it. This was the moment Ozzie wrecked the last stable thing in his life-

His lips touched down. Chapped and rough and lacking in finesse-

James didn't stop him.

He opened his mouth. Pulled Ozzie over his waist and tilted his head up. His mouth tasted like weed and cool ranch. His hands felt strong and steady on Ozzie's hips. James' chest was smooth and firm under Ozzie's grip. His tongue a velvet tease against his own.

God-

He wasn't even hard. Neither of them were, but Ozzie kept going. Kept taking. Kept trembling in James' grasp like if he let go Ozzie would float away. And he would. Ozzie knew he would-

"Shh," James pulled back, wrapping his arms fully around Ozzie, the words shaping themselves along Ozzie's lips, "don't cry man. It's okay. I got'chu." I'm not going away. I'm not going to leave you behind. You're still my best-friend. James chuckled softly to himself. "Guess this crosses off the bromosexual box in our friendship huh?"

Ozzie buried his face in the crook of James' neck, letting out a watery laugh, ugly tears staining James' collarbone. James rubbed his back.

"F-fuck," Ozzie blubbered, "y-y-you're such an a-ass-hole."

"I'm not the one who just made out with their straight best-friend. You're lucky I love your scrawny ass."

"Fuck off." Ozzie mumbled. James patted his back and Ozzie finally relaxed, sniffing loudly.

"Dude, that was fucking gross. Get off, you big baby."

Ozzie gave him the finger.

James sighed. "Fine, you can stay there, but only 'cause it's your birthday."

"You're sucha good friend." Ozzie slurred groggily, "best mate ever."

"Damn straight. I'm Tony fuckin' Stark."

Ozzie snorted.

Six hours later his parents were dead.