At that moment, I become overly aware of how shirtless I am. The constant, phantom voice in my head screams at me to cover up, to keep myself hidden. But I don’t want to hide anymore. Not from Jack.

I grab his hand. “I suffer from body dysmorphia. I had an eating disorder in high school. I look in the mirror and see—” I shudder. “Makes it hard to get close, because what if you saw what I see?” Now it’s my turn to shrug and look away. “Combine that with trying to figure out how I fit into the nonbinary spectrum, because some days I feel very genderless and fluid and unmoored, and others like a bear of a man, and I don’t know.” I go quiet for a few minutes. “I don’t talk about this stuff with anyone. Even Rae. I’ve been meaning to see one of the campus therapists, but I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“Really?” he asks, and I nod. “I’m glad you feel safe enough with me.”

“You’re the first person who has ever made me feel whole.” I pause. “And like my body is something …” I don’t know what to say because I don’t know how to talk about myself without using words like ogre or blob.

“Desirable?” he offers. “Sexy?” His hand rests in the center of my chest. His fingers comb through my chest hair gingerly. “Let me show you,” he grumbles as he buries his face in the crook of my neck. He turns his body and koala bears my side, resting his top leg over mine and his head where his hand used to be on my chest.

I lay my head back and feel him breathing, his chest rising and falling, and I want to stay like this forever. For the first time, I feel safe enough to just be here, now, with him. I don’t hear anything in my head telling me that I’m inadequate because his heartbeat and my heartbeat drown them out.

He starts humming, and I immediately recognize the song as the one we splashed in the puddles to at the Years & Years show. I can’t remember the name, but I know the melody. It’s the soundtrack to my dreams.

I shift down on the bed to get a little pillow action, which makes Jack stir. He moves, and I feel him hardening against my leg. I push against him, causing him to press his pelvis into me until he’s rocking back and forth. He looks up from my chest and into my eyes, and my breath hitches as his fingers walk down my stomach, hovering at my waist, tooling at the elastic band of my shorts.

“Wait,” I stammer.

He picks his head up, almost reading my mind, our gazes never breaking.

“I want to make you cum,” I say.