Jonathan came to an abrupt stop. His pulse was loud in his ears, sounding a confrontation warning. This was the moment when he was supposed to back down. This was when cowardice won out and he smooshed his feelings down to where no one else would ever have to notice them. It had always been his job to be small and agreeable and unnoticed.

He was sick of it.

“You mean like how you and Tucker are still friends?” he asked the back of Andrew’s head.

Andrew spun around, jaw hanging open. “That’s not fair!”

“Isn’t it?” Jonathan spat. “Tucker bailed on you the second he got fangs. Who’s to say you wouldn’t do the same thing to me? We’re not family. We don’t have Warren to keep us together anymore.”

“Is that what you think of me? That I would just abandon you?”

“Isn’t that what people do when they get ‘the bite that saves’?” He held up the most sarcastic air quotes he could muster without spilling his stack of flyers. “They pretend they were never human. Tucker. Willow Rosenberg. Do you think Spike’s mom called him Spike?”

“Maybe!” Andrew said, annoyance making him supercilious. “Why are we even fighting about this? We could die any minute!”

“Well, I don’t want to die without talking about the important stuff! So just admit it! Without Warren around, there’s no reason for you to hang out with me. You don’t need me. You don’t trust me. You didn’t even tell me you were gay!”

Jonathan said it before he could stop himself. The thought had plagued him since they were kneeling back at the temple at the foot of a literal goddess from hell. After a childhood of pity invites and getting picked last for everything, Jonathan thought he had finally found a true friend in Andrew. They’d been part of Klingon club and the academic decathlon team—along with Warren, of course. Warren had been Andrew’s obvious favorite, but Jonathan assumed that he was a decent runner-up. A second-place best friend.

“I didn’t want it to be the only thing you saw when you looked at me,” Andrew said, avoiding Jonathan’s eye. “I already had less of a role in the group. Warren was the leader. You’re the inventor. I didn’t want to just be your gay friend. If you’d even keep me as your friend.”

Confusion scrambled Jonathan’s brain. Sure, there was no arguing that Warren had been in charge, but Jonathan never thought of himself as the inventor of the group. Andrew was the one who had the computer-programming skills to create the counterfeiting machine.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, stepping closer to Andrew, trying to catch his averted gaze. “Why would I stop being your friend?”