His jaw clenches, but his gaze never breaks. “When we got home from our quest the other day, I sat down to write in that journal with the invisible ink pen. I thought that if I could just write down how I felt, put the words on the page, knowing they’d fade away once the ink dried, it’d make me feel better. It’s like I started this journey here at CIA feeling a bit lost, but when I met you, it all started to come together. My Inmost Cave is admitting it out loud. That I’m …” He pauses.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I try to assure him, knowing what he’s about to admit. There’s determination etched onto his face but also fear. I wish I could take away, but that’s impossible.

He shakes his head. “I’m gay.” He lets out a breath, and the tension in his shoulders melts.

I pull him closer, making sure he knows I won’t let him go. Then he hands me his phone, his hand still trembling.

“I never said that out loud, even though I’ve always known.”

I let his confession settle in for a few moments. “How does it feel?”

He shrugs. “I wrote this tonight. Well, technically, I started it after our quest, but watching you inside dancing, I don’t know. I felt like I needed to be next to you, too.” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t mad that you showed Rae the poem. I just didn’t realize until now that I never really had a chance to figure out what it meant first.”

I pick up his phone and read the words in his Notes app:

Bedtime stories start,

“Once upon a time”

but nobody says the

quiet part out loud:

that happily ever after

is a lie

and the real story begins

long after the end

once the reluctant hero

learns love is complicated

and easy to admit in the dark

once the lights go out

and nobody can hear

the sounds of your heart

beating

“Jack—” I lean in and trace the outline of his face.

His heartbeat is a quick-quick-thump, quick-quick-thump.

Our noses nuzzle, his mouth hovering above mine, our lips two magnets just within range, pulling toward each other but held back.

“I’ve never done this before.” His breathing is shallow. “I’ve kissed girls, but—”

“That’s okay, we don’t have to. We can take our time,” I shift away from him, but he grabs the collar of my tee and yanks me toward him, kissing me.

It’s soft, tender, and grows in intensity the longer we stay entwined. His mouth opens, and mine does the same until his tongue brushes mine. I pull back just enough to nibble on his bottom lip, which elicits a primal moan, and he moves his hand from my shirt to my face, caressing my cheeks, then to the back of my head, pulling me toward him, chasing me, making my body shudder.

His lips are the spark, my body the thunder that follows, shaking the earth.