His brow wrinkles, and he starts to shake his head.

So I do the only thing I can think of to ease his mind. I’ve never seen him cry, but if he cries now—

I just can’t. I can’t deal with that.

So I kiss him instead.

Right smack on the lips with enough pressure and precision there should never be any doubt as to what I’m doing. It’s just Waylon and me and the heart burning in my chest in this long, dragged out moment. One I never want to end.

I. Kiss. Him.

This boy.

My best friend.

I kiss him.

His eyes remain wide and unblinking, finally, finally locked on my own. Our mouths are pressed together firmly. We’re chest to chest, heart to heart, and I wonder if his burns like mine.

It can’t be more than a couple seconds, but it feels like a lifetime passes me by on this chilly day in May, pressed up against the school, before his eyes finally slide shut. As his whole body seems to cave in to my touch as I hesitantly, softly move my lips over his.

I have no idea what I’m doing, and it’s in no way like one of those gross kisses in the movies, with spit and tongue and wandering hands.

This is just two boys connected by a single point. Communicating something we don’t quite understand in the only way we know how.

But I can see now, for the first time, why grown-ups like this sort of thing. There’s this, like, whisper in the back of my head. Urging me forward and guiding my fingers over his bunched knuckles. Loosening them until his fingers are laced with mine.

Slowly, all too soon, I pull back. Not taking my eyes off his, I watch with bated breath to see what he’ll do now that there’s no darkness to hide behind.

He has to know I won’t let him run away from me. Not after this.

One of his hands pulls away from mine as he lifts it to his mouth. Fingers trembling as they brush over his full bottom lip.

My cheeks are on fire, but I don’t look away. I don’t move a muscle.

“You kissed me.”

I grin. “No, I didn’t.”

His brow pulls in tightly. “Are you messing with me?”

I sigh and cock my head. I give his fingers a squeeze as I lift our joined hands in front of his face. “Does this feel like a joke?”

His pale throat bobs with his swallow. “We shouldn’t...”

“Shouldn’t what? Kiss? Why not?”

He looks back at me like I should know better. “Because we’re boys.”