I remember when I had my first crush on someone at school, I asked my mom how I would know if they were the one or not. She didn’t take it seriously; who would take the crush of a twelve-year-old seriously? But she did give me advice that I’ve thought about for a while.

“When you know they’re the one, you’ll know because you’ll be able to sit peacefully in silence with them, without it being a problem. You’ll be able to know what they are thinking without having to ask them, and they’ll be able to do the same with you. But most of all, the simple problems, the small problems that bother you about most people? With that person, they don’t bother you. That’s what the right person does for you, Dre. And I hope, one day, you’ll find them.”

I don’t know if Michael’s that person, but I know he fits all those categories.

I know we’ve been walking for four blocks, without saying a single word, and that’s okay. I know when he wants to turn, he only has to give the gentlest tug before my body responds in kind.

Until, suddenly, he decides it’s time to speak.

“So about that kiss.”

I need to pick my words carefully. Isobel always says that, in these moments, how you react to a boy can determine how the relationship moves forward. Who has the power? Is it equal? Is it push and pull? Don’t play too hard to get, but don’t cave just because he kissed you.

“What about it?”

Michael shrugs. “Did you like it?”

Another pause. Honesty or muted emotion? Honesty or muted emotion? Honesty or…

“Yeah,” I say, quietly, then I clear my throat and add, “I liked it a lot. And your music too.”

Michael turns his head away from me, his cheeks a faint red. I can’t tell if it’s from him blushing or from the cold, but either way, the rosiness and bashfulness look good on him.

And a part of me, a large part of me, wants to see that blush again.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“It was amazing,” I reply.

He gives a fake, over-the-top bow. “Got some experience?”

I quirk a brow, and a smile creeps around the edges of my lips. “Is that your way of asking if I have a boyfriend?”

“In so many words, yes.”

“No, I don’t.” I pause again. “Do you?”

He shakes his head.

“Not so easy, you know? I mean, yeah, I’m out, and I’m happy I’m gay, but still.” He shrugs. “My parents don’t want this. The world doesn’t want me to be happy. Having a boyfriend… That feels like a dream.”