I eventually turned away from Jamie to watch the violent storm through the gaps in the bleachers. For once, I wanted the rain to hurry up and pass -- the silence was eating at my nerves, urging my fingers into anxious tapping against my knees. Just being around Jamie made me tense all over; I could feel him pushing me away -- pushing everything away -- subconsciously, as if the air around him was constantly working to maintain a defensive layer between himself and the rest of the world. The discomfort was so constant that I couldn't focus on anything else, and I hated that -- hated that I was thinking about Jamie while he was relaxed, reading his book, thinking about everything but me.

As much as talking to him was a pain, I was quickly finding that the quiet was far worse. So I decided to speak, partly to fill the air, partly because this would be a wasted opportunity if I didn't mention what I needed to mention to him.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about Saturday."

Jamie was quiet for a moment, so that I thought I'd been blatantly ignored. But then he said, in a very Jamie-like fashion, "I've been avoiding talking to you about Saturday." His tone wasn't quite as cold as it had been before, but it wasn't welcoming, either.

"Yeah, well . . . " I thought over my next words, trying to pick them correctly.

"I get we're gonna be here for a while, but could you spit it out?"

I really, really couldn't stand him.

I ignored him, taking the time I needed to figure out what I would say and how I would say it. "I really need you to keep what happened on Saturday to yourself," I began finally, after an impatient huff from Jamie. "I . . . I know you don't owe it to me, and if you want to tell, I can't stop you. I'm guessing you don't, because you would've already, but . . . it could ruin my life, I think, having others find out now. I don't know how people who're important to me will react, and that's scary as hell, because it means it could go either way. And whenever they do find out --" in the distant, distant future, I thought to myself, "-- It's got to be on my terms. So please, just don't mention it to anyone."

Jamie didn't say anything. I knew he'd been listening, because his gaze was fixed on one part of his page rather than moving, but there came no response. I snapped, agitated -- this was really important, and I wasn't going to let him brush it off for the second time. "Can you at least look at me?"

To my surprise, Jamie actually glanced up, raising his gaze from his book for the first time that night. I almost regretted asking for it, because I found those different-colored eyes much more unnerving when I was looking directly into them.

"I won't tell anyone," Jamie said, and though the words were simple and dry, I had a feeling he meant them. "Anything else?"

"Uh . . . " I said lamely, struggling to comprehend that that had gone so well. "Thanks?"

Jamie turned back to his book, but I didn't look away so quickly. Then came the second surprise of the night. For a moment so brief it could have been imagined (though I knew it hadn't), Jamie's lips turned up at the edges in the tiniest of smiles -- the amused kind that always came out lopsided -- seemingly unaware of my eyes still on him.

I got home late that night, dripping from head to toe and grateful that my parents and the dogs were asleep -- my parents because my mom would absolutely kill me for getting water everywhere, the dogs because they would start barking and wake my mom up, and then she would kill me for getting water everywhere. I went straight to the desk in my room, not caring that I should probably take a hot shower or at least dry off. I felt like so much had happened within the last week, and keeping it all to myself was about to drive me crazy. I needed an outlet.

So I used my Mac to FaceTime the one person I could talk to about these things. It took a few rings before she picked up, and when she did, she was smiling. "Hey, bub," she beamed, "I've been meaning to call you."

"Don't you think it's about time you stop calling me that?" I complained, like I did every time. As usual, the protest was pointless.

"No way," Stevie laughed. "I'll be saying it at your wedding. So, what has you calling at this disgusting hour of the night? And why are you soaked?"

"I went out in the rain," I said, then glanced purposefully at the time. "It's hardly midnight," I pointed out dryly.

"And I'm a tired college kid," Stevie retorted. "I need my sleep. Also, you shouldn't be sitting there in wet clothes. You're gonna get sick."

"Thanks, mom."

Taking in her appearance, I noticed that her curly hair was in a messy bun, she had no makeup on, she was wearing a ratty old t-shirt, and, from what I could tell, her room was dark save for a dim glow from her small bedside lamp. She clearly had been about to tuck in for the night.

I almost felt bad. But she was my sister after all -- I had unspoken younger-brother privileges to call her when I wanted and face no guilt. Besides, she seemed happy to see me.

"So, what's up?" she asked. "Something intense, I hope; today's been so boring."

I let out a long breath through my nose. Where did I even start?

"Well, I went to a gay bar and got super drunk and had sex with this really hot guy only to realize that he goes to my school and is kind of an asshole and I'm sort of conflicted because I want to punch him all the time but also he's really hot," I said in one breath. Stevie blinked at me, looking like she was trying and failing to catch up to my quick words.

"Okay," she nodded slowly, her expression utterly lost. "Again. Slowly."

I began again, taking my time and going into more detail about what had happened on Saturday night and everything since. Story-telling turned into rambling, and rambling turned into complete word-vomit; I hadn't realized before just how much I needed to get off my chest. When I got around to the conflict that had been going on in my mind for the past week, however, I hesitated.

Stevie seemed to see that I  was struggling, because she chose that moment to cut in. "Well," she breathed, "That was a roller coaster. I'm probably an awful influence for saying this, but, like, good for you, Liam. I'm happy that you're getting out there and trying. No more denying anything."

I smiled gratefully. Though I didn't say it, I knew I wouldn't have done any of it without her support and encouragement. Maybe she was a bad influence, but if so, I never wanted her to become a good one.

She, if anyone, would be able to help me with my next roadblock. With that in mind, I began to delve deeper. "It's like . . ." I paused. God, this was so weird to talk about with my sister. But at the same time, she was the only person I'd ever want to have the conversation with. "I guess I can't help but think that this could, you know, work out for me if I play my cards right. Jamie clearly isn't against a meaningless hookup, and well . . ."

Deciding to just be completely blunt, because that was how our relationship worked, I laughed and said, "Well, I'm horny as fuck, and he's, you know, an option. I know he thinks I'm attractive, and I know he won't tell anyone; I just don't know if he's wiling to do it again now that we, er, don't get along too well. I'm worried it's a bad idea, or that I'll just end up embarrassed if I ask. Hell, how do you even ask that kind of thing? Like, 'hey, wanna do the dirty dance with no pants and no strings attached?' Well, obviously not like that, but still, what the fuck?"

"Please do exactly that," Stevie laughed. "God, you're a dork. Really, though, you should go for it. Have some fun, no commitment necessary. He doesn't have to like you to want you to fu --"

"Okay!" I said loudly, because hearing her say that would just be too damn weird. "But how? Do you think I should go back to Vagabonds, see if he's there?"

She thought over it for a minute, but eventually shook her head. "You can do what you want, but personally, I don't think it's a good idea," she said, pursing her lips. "I don't think going out an hour from home without anyone knowing and getting drunk is the safest option, at least not when you're going alone. I don't know how it works when you're both drunk, but if one of you had been sober on Saturday . . . there's a lot of trouble that --"

"I would never take advantage of anyone," I protested sharply, and Stevie raised her hands defensively.

"I know you wouldn't," she said. "What I'm worried about is someone else taking advantage of you. Stuff . . . stuff like what happened with that sick fuck Frankie or whatever," I saw anger dart across her gaze, "Happens more than people give it credit for. "

"Jamie wouldn't, either," I said stubbornly; Jamie could be a jerk, but somehow there was no doubt in my mind that he'd never do something like that.

"I'm not saying he would," Stevie said impatiently. "But if you go to this Vagabonds place just to look for him, it would be all too easy for some creep to slip something into your drink. They're not all as obvious as Fletcher."

"Okay," I nodded. "Point taken."

"While we're on the topic of consent," Stevie said deliberately, as if she'd been looking for a decent segway, "Exactly how old is this Jamie kid?"

I hesitated, because I had a feeling I knew how she'd react. "He's . . . sixteen."

Her expression fell. "Absolutely not."

"But --"

"Liam, you can't," she insisted exasperatedly. "How does a sixteen year old even get into a place like Vagabonds?"

"Probably with a fake ID, like the one you gave me," I bit back. "Which is really worse than sleeping with a sixteen year old, if you think about it -- at least the sex was legal. You're the one who told me sixteen is the age of --"

"God," Stevie sighed, putting her head in her hands. "I am an awful big sister."

"You're overreacting," I rolled my eyes. "I need you to give me advice, not flip out on me. Besides, you can hardly talk; I know what you got up to when you were sixteen."

She was quiet for another moment. Finally, she dropped her hands. "Fine," she gave in. "Honestly, you're going to just have to ask, unless you can somehow show him what you're looking for. I think it'll only be awkward if you make it awkward. You've done it so many times with girls; just do what you usually do."

"This is different, though," I said.

"How?"

I didn't answer. I didn't know how to word it.

++++

I found myself searching for days for some way to do this -- to get Jamie alone and communicate to him, whether directly or not, that I wanted some sort of repeat of last Saturday.

During the contemplation of which I was faced with another question to answer -- whether or not I even truly wanted it.

I'd felt so sure during my talk with Stevie. But the confidence and excitement had faded, leaving me wondering what the hell I thought I was doing, trying to hook up with some random asshole from school. The same thoughts kept running through my mind: it was too risky; Jamie was too close; it wasn't worth the struggle of sneaking around.

The most confusing yet most persistent doubt of mine was whether or not I even wanted to offer myself to someone like him, someone I didn't know and definitely didn't like. To give in would be seriously unromantic. Sure, I'd done it once before, but that had been on a random whim in the midst of a drunken night. And sure, I'd been with more girls than I was proud of, but I'd never actually been into it. If I was going to have sex with a guy -- sex that I'd actually remember -- maybe I wanted it to be a bit more . . . special.

It wasn't like I was waiting to find someone I was in love with. That would be pretty ridiculous, because I wasn't the guy to believe in love.

Someone I liked, though. Maybe even tolerated. Not someone in whom the only quality I could find that made the idea appealing was 'being sexy'.

I was mulling over this exact thing as I walked to my car on Wednesday after school when the unpleasant scent of smoke hit my nose. Face screwed up in disgust, I looked for the source, my eyes quickly landing on a group of kids sat on a beat up old jeep, cigarettes between their lips.

I knew of this group well enough. They were your typical rule-breaking, drug-dealing future alcoholics. The kids that swapped their blazers for leather jackets, were absent from class 75% of the time (and sleeping through lessens for the other 25%), and got into heaps of trouble not just with the school, but with the law as well. Half of them had criminal records. Their ranks were newly one short, after Jordan Baxter got expelled for hitting his his chemistry teacher in the face with a microscope, breaking both the microscope and Mr. Patel's nose.

Jamie was, in all honesty, pretty mild in comparison to his friends. He did dumb stuff -- like smoking in a school parking lot -- but the only trouble he ever got into was detention for matters like disrespect and insubordination.

I realized that I had stopped walking and was blatantly staring at the group on the jeep; they didn't usually hang around in this area of the parking lot. The only one of them to notice me seemed to be Jamie, who was looking right back with somewhat of a challenge in his gaze. It was the closest to making contact with him that I'd gotten all week.

Then, right as I was about to continue waking past, Jamie averted his gaze. I found myself rooted to the spot for a moment longer, gazing curiously at the blonde-haired boy, because Jamie Alexander was never one to look away first -- to back down, or get nervous, or whatever the hell had just happened.

++++

I found that I was still struggling with my indecisiveness by Thursday night. Not that it made much difference -- even if I chose to go through with it, I still didn't know how to get Jamie alone.

But then I woke up on Friday morning with a tent in my pants after a wonderful dream starring myself and Chris Hemsworth, and I found it a lot easier to make up my mind.

At least for now, I wanted it. Thank God for Chris.

Tonight was another game, this time against one of the better schools in the district. I was too preoccupied thinking graphic gay thoughts about Norse gods and the Avengers while simultaneously trying to create a plan to be on my A-game. Bryan was too love-struck -- he'd finally asked Vanessa on a date, and she'd said yes -- to play to well either. The whole team seemed off, really, and the game ended in a loss. I should have probably been bummed about it, but my mind was elsewhere.

There had been rain every day that week, so it was no surprise that, as the forecast predicted, a light drizzle had begun in the fourth quarter -- making it even harder to focus, because I fell again into a bit of a rain-induced haze.

By the time the game had ended, it was raining significantly harder, though not as badly as it had a week before. And just like the week before, I lingered behind as everyone left to stay and enjoy the storm. After all, staying on the field for a while longer when it rained, whether during practice or game, had been a tradition of mine since freshman year. Some of the more observant guys on the team -- Bryan, for instance -- had long since noticed and asked about it. Most, however, either didn't notice or didn't care.

I had to wait longer this time for the area to completely empty of students, parents, and staff alike, since the rain wasn't quite so intense, but eventually I found myself alone once again.

I decided to jog a lap around the field -- I felt I hadn't worked off much energy during the game. So I ran, blindly following the curve of the field, feeling the droplets bounce off of my skin and the earth sink easily beneath my feet, shutting my eyes and appreciating the peace that came with darkness.

I wasn't sure how long I ran for, or how many laps I did, but at one point, my body seemed to tell me to slow to a stop. So I did, allowing my eyes to flicker open and reveal that I was on the edge of the field nearest to the bleachers under which I'd stashed my bag. Through the thin rain, I could see a dim glow coming from that exact spot, and an excited smile found my lips. This was too perfect.

I strolled behind the bleachers, leaning against their metallic support and running a hand through my wet curls as I was met with the exact sight I'd been hoping for. There was Jamie, again reading that small book, again leaning back against my bag.

"You making a habit of using my bag as a pillow?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

Jamie, as expected, didn't look up. "You making a habit of talking to people who want to be left alone?"

I chose to ignore him. My run through the rain had left me with some lingering happiness that Jamie would have to try harder to kill.

"You're still here," I pointed out. Twice now, I'd found Jamie sat under the bleachers after a football game.

"Good observation, big guy," Jamie mocked. And just like that, I felt some of that happiness ebb away, annoyance rising in its place. Jamie was obnoxiously good at getting under my skin. I  really hated when he called me big guy -- like I was just some brawny idiot.

Again, however, I didn't comment on his rudeness. "You gonna tell me you got caught by the rain again?" I asked, because this storm was way too light to use as an excuse for staying.

"Actually, I wasn't going to tell you anything."

I was silent, but I kept my eyes on him, studying his face. He quickly grew annoyed with the staring and shut his book. "I like storms," he said irritably.

I realized something then. Maybe Jamie knew how to push my buttons, but it wasn't a one-sided affair. He didn't seem quite up to his usual stubbornness when it came to me.

It also struck me that we had something in common. We were here for the same reason -- we'd both stayed behind to enjoy something that most people ran from.

"Well if that's the case," I said after a moment, "why are you sitting under the bleachers instead of out in the open?"

"I said I like storms," Jamie grumbled, sounding impatient. "I like the sights and sounds. Not all of us want to frolic through the rain like we belong on the set of a cheesy musical."

Maybe I should have taken offense to that, but instead I was pondering over what he'd said -- I like the sights and sounds. It wasn't surprising that he liked this kind of setting. It made perfect sense, actually; the weather was chaotic and unpredictable. It chased others away. It was just like him.

"The rain is the best part," I defended, because it was, and I would stand by that. Maybe what Jamie needed was a little less chaos and a little more peace. "I say don't knock it until you try it -- really try it."

Jamie finally looked up at me, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. Finally, I had something along the lines of an idea.

"Come on," I beckoned. "I'll prove it to you."

"Um . . ." he blinked slowly, incredulously at me, as if I'd just offered to push him in front of an eighteen-wheeler. "No?"

"You should," I insisted. "It's really nice. Your stubborn ass will thank me later."

He rolled his eyes. "Not interested."

"Come on," I said again. Jamie furrowed his eyebrows.

"No," he refused again, agitated this time.

"Yes."

"Go dance around by yourself," he snapped, mean as always and completely unamused. But I'd grown up with two siblings, and I knew something about me unnerved Jamie -- this was a game I wouldn't lose. It was only a matter of time before his annoyance got the best of him.

"No," I said this time.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"Please?"

"Yes -- wait --" Jamie stammered, and I let out a triumphant "Ha!" It was a classic trick, and he'd gone and fallen for it.

I held out my hand to him. He stared at it -- glared at it -- for a long moment. I knew he was debating. But I also knew I'd won. So there was no shock on my end when he sighed, finally giving up, and dropped his phone and book to the dry floor. Reaching up, he took my hand.

"You are the single most infuriating pers-- "

I pulled him to his feet just a bit too hard, causing him to stumble into my chest. I wouldn't lie and say that was accidental. If Jamie was as clever as he pretended to be, he wouldn't think so, either. And judging by the slight lift of his eyebrows -- not in his usual judgmental manner, but one which gave away surprise and even some curiosity -- he'd noticed. Good.

I led him in silence to the center of the field. "Okay," I said. "Stand here."

He obeyed, either because he wanted to get it over and done with, or because he knew what I was doing.

"Close your eyes," I said, quiet enough to give myself away. He did as I said and shut his eyes; I caught a twitch of his lips, and my own turned up in a smirk. Yeah, he knew. And he wasn't fighting it. "Let your mind wander to something . . . happy."

A sad thought crossed my mind as I said it. It wasn't as if I hadn't wondered before what had turned Jamie from the boy he was before to the boy he was now. What if he didn't have any nice thoughts to think? Maybe something was wrong with him, keeping him trapped in his pessimistic cage. Or maybe it was more of a shell -- an outer shield protecting whatever vulnerabilities he may be hiding. There was a twinge in my gut, but I wasn't sure if it was sympathy or curiosity.

A noise pulled my attention from my thoughts back to Jamie's face. It had been a small, almost inaudible sigh, and it had come from his lips. He didn't seem to realize he'd made it.

I noticed that his face was more relaxed now than it had been moments before. As if he was asleep. I hadn't realized how tense Jamie always seemed until I saw him at peace; for once, it wasn't so hard to believe that he was only sixteen.

I stood next to him and shut my eyes. My brain found images of myself and Bryan playing chase in elementary school; of Stevie driving home from university during the middle of the day after I'd called her, crying and scared because I'd realized that I was gay, just so that she could comfort me; of me and my younger brother, Jacob, smashing our faces into my twelfth birthday cake. We'd been so close back then; now Jacob was an angsty fifteen year old brat in the middle of his 'no one understands me', 'it's not a phase mom' stage of teen-hood.

I chuckled to myself at the thought, opening my eyes to see how Jamie was doing. He looked the same.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"Cold," he said, though the usual edge was absent from his voice.

I moved to stand right behind him. I was briefly visited by forgotten images from my night at Vagabonds -- of us standing like this but an inch closer, dancing to loud music . . .

I placed my hands underneath Jamie's chin from behind, tilting his face upward toward the sky. Right then, lightning flashed, illuminating the entire field in white-blue light.

"How do you feel now?"

Instead of answering right away, Jamie turned around to face me, his eyes open, and I took a step back.

"Like you're flirting with me."

Not confirming or denying anything, I said, "Okay."

He scoffed at my indifference. "You don't like me," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You think I'm rude and cold-hearted and unambitious and self-important."

I nodded; he was pretty spot on, and I doubted that lying would do anything for me. "And you think I'm arrogant and stupid and annoying. Does it matter?"

Jamie shrugged. "Not to me. But I'd think it would matter to you -- precious standards and all."

I pursed my lips. "Well I'm telling you it doesn't."

Jamie's next words sent a nervous shiver down my spine. "Then come closer."

I realized that what I was feeling was excitement, not nerves. So far, no spit-in-my-face rejection. I stepped forward so that our chests were hardly an inch apart.

Jamie looked up at me, seemed to appraise me. Then his eyes traveled down my figure, pausing for a moment at my torso, where my shirt clung to my body from the rain, revealing every outline of my figure. A lazy sort of smile spread over his lips, and he said, "Yeah, okay."

His hands moved from his sides to my hips, his fingers dipping just under the hem of my shirt. I felt warmth spreading over me from each point of contact -- the small touch was already making me hot all over.

"Can't say I expected this from you," Jamie mused, smirking to myself. "Doesn't seem to follow your golden-boy guidelines."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up," I said. And just to make sure he did, because I had a feeling I'd back out with one more snarky comment -- and because I was tired of waiting -- I knitted my hands around the back of his neck and pushed my lips against his.