“No,” I said. “It’s different.” I watched him spin the pipe in his hands, around and around and around. I watched the rise and fall of his chest. I wanted to preserve the ease of that moment, the security of him. I wanted to forget the terror of the panic. I wanted my body worn out so thoroughly it didn’t have the capacity to rebel again. I wanted something corporeal, something good, and I wanted a lasting memory of it. I wanted him wedded to me, as bound to me as I was to him. My heart pounded in my chest, a deep boom boom boom that drowned out every other noise. My skin came alive, every nerve alert and full of anticipation. I forgot to breathe. Slowly, I took the pipe from his hand and set it on the floor beside him. He looked over at me, curious and slightly worried. I turned toward him, my left arm crossing his body. I leaned into my arm, and cupped the back of his neck with my other hand. I pulled him to me, and I kissed him. Without regret or hesitation, I kissed him. Man to man without any shadow of shame, I kissed him. And I still remember it with startling clarity, that kiss. It was the first kiss I’d ever had I can remember, the first one with no charms and no shaping wedged between it and my memory.

He tasted of smoke and oranges and slightly of ale. His mouth was hot, and grew hotter as we kissed. His tongue slipped along mine, and the muscles of my back tightened. When our mouths closed, I felt the soft dryness of his lips. He let out a sigh, hot against my jaw. He started to say my name, but my mouth found his a second time. I leaned into him, and we fell against the wall, my body stretched along the length of his. He laughed very softly, pulled just far enough away just long enough to say my name. “Ariah.”

My face hovered just in front of his. I breathed his breath in; he breathed in mine. “Yes?” I felt safer, more alive, more complete than I ever had before. It was intoxicating.

“Ariah, what is this? What’re you doing?”

I grinned at him. I spoke in his voice. “I thought we were making it finally.”

He blushed. With skin as dark as his it’s hard to tell, but I was close, and I could not tear my eyes from him, and it was a deep, burning blush. He laughed again, but there was a tension in the laugh. His eyebrows knitted together, and he pushed me gently away from him. “Ah, you’re stoned.”

“I want to remember it.”

He rubbed a hand through his hair and moved slightly away from me. He stared down at his feet. “Ariah, I can’t.”

“We can.”