I don’t let myself look at his face. There’s more silence now, even though birds are making their nighttime noises, and I can hear cable cars rushing past. It’s probably time for me to get home. I just wish things were more…I don’t know. Resolved. At least I did it. Now no one else can take that away.

Miles kisses my cheek, and I jump a little bit.

“That’s not sex,” he says. “No bodily fluids, right? So, we can still do that.”

I don’t even know what to say. He’s too good.

“You’re right,” I say, giving him a small smile. “And anyway, it can’t be contracted through saliva. But you should think about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” I say, heaving a sigh. “Like, I’m still a virgin.”

He blinks at me. “And?”

“It’s for a reason,” I say, putting force behind my words. “There’s only a small chance, but there’s still a chance, so you should think about it.”

He blinks a few more times. I’m glad he hasn’t called me a whore or run away or anything, but part of me feels like he isn’t taking this seriously.

“We don’t have to have sex right now,” he says, almost like a petulant child. “Not everyone has sex all the time, Simone.”

I scoff, “You’ll want to wait.”

“You don’t know what I want. Even if I do want it, I can wait.”

“Well, what if you decide you don’t want to wait?”

He shakes his head, sliding away from me. It’s a little colder without him near me, so I wrap my sweatshirt around my shoulders.

“Do you seriously think I can’t go without sex for six months?”

“I don’t know,” I snap. I shut my eyes, willing myself not to lose it again. “It’s just…I don’t know. I don’t want…I don’t think anything bad is going to happen, but in the alternate universe where it does, I don’t want you to hate me forever.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“If you got HIV because of me?” My eyes pop open. “Miles, once you got on the meds, you’d probably have side effects like throwing up and getting headaches and rashes. Plus, some people would avoid you like you have the plague—maybe even your own family. Most people don’t even know anything about it; they’re just scared. I think you’d care, even just a little bit.”

He’s quiet.

“I’m not saying it’s going to happen,” I continue, lowering my voice. “I’m pretty sure it won’t. But I’m still scared that—”

“I don’t think any differently about you.”

I glance at him. “What?”