Trigger Warning: very very (very) brief mention of suicide

it's 2 am and i work tomorrow and i've done no homework and i wanna hdxblwdisjkiolk

to those of you who don't know, i'm a liar and this isn't the last chapter bc it would have been like 1300 words (for reference, this is 7000) and nobody wants that. just editing this one has seriously damaged my sanity. next one will be the last

also if you couldn't tell by now i love cmbyn

@ net i referenced the crackheads somewhere and if you don't comment at the right spot i'm dropping our <3 on sc

++++

We gave it more than a minute.

     "Liam?" Jamie said after what could have been a year of us standing like that, holding each other like there was nothing else we could do. If it was a year, it was the best year of my life.

     "Hm?" I hummed by his ear, pressing a soft, smiling kiss to the skin there.

     "You're leaving in a few hours."

     I leaned back to look at him, the stupid-happy light never flickering from my face. His hair, dark from the rain, clung to his forehead, so I pushed it back so I could see his whole face when I said, "You're crazy if you think I care about California right now. Just say the word and I'll stay."

     Bryan would have Vanessa in California. Jamie could have me here.

     But Jamie shook his head adamantly. He wasn't smiling. "I don't want you to stay."

     I started to remind him that I would only be in Pittsburgh, just a few hours away, but he didn't let me get more than a word out before he said, "I want you to go."

     "Jamie—"

     "Liam, you're not staying for me," Jamie insisted. "I know why you want to get away. I know how bad you need it. You're going to California."

     He was right. I needed it. I needed to get away from my mother.

     But I needed this, too. I needed Jamie close enough to touch.

     I started to say, "What if you--"

     But I stopped myself short, remembering the little girl with dark brown hair who I'd seen at his house just that night. There was no point in even asking.

     Jamie didn't let the words die, though. With a tug at my shirt, he urged me to continue. "What were you going to say?"

     "Something dumb," I shrugged, trying to brush it off. If he caught my attempt at an easy dismissal, he ignored it wholeheartedly.

     "Well that's nothing I'm not used to," he said. There was a teasing shine in his eyes. "So don't be shy."

    I pressed my lips together, poking my tongue at the inside of my cheek. Giving in, I tentatively said, "You could come with me."

     When Jamie didn't say anything for several seconds, I got self-conscious and continued. "I mean, I just think it would be a nice escape, you know? Like when we went to Stevie's over winter break, just . . . longer. Far away from all of the shit here." I was rambling, but I couldn't stop. "I mean, if you don't want to, I totally get that. It's a long trip, and you probably sunburn easily, and — wow, that is not what I meant to say just now. But if you think it's a bad idea, then . . . then that's fine."

     "Liam," Jamie said.

    "I mean, I want you to come, I really want you to come, because I don't know when I'll see you next if I don't."

      "Liam."

     "But obviously your sister's here, and—"

     "Liam," Jamie stressed, shaking me by the shirt a little to snap me out of it. I stammered for another moment before my mouth eased shut. Jamie was laughing lightly as he looked up at me. "Liam, oh my god, shut up, I'll go."

     "I— yeah?"

     "Yeah," Jamie chuckled at the way my mouth opened in surprise. "Yes."

    I let out a heavy sigh, pink in the cheeks, and pulled him against me with a relieved laugh. "Awesome. Great. Fantastic."

     I could feel Jamie laughing against my neck. "Yeah, something like that."

     Simple couldn't last forever, though.

     The way I was holding him, I felt the shift in his mood before he opened his mouth. I felt it in the way his lips, pressed against my shoulder, shifted into a frown, and in the way he lifted his head and leaned away from me. His hands were still on my arms, but the gap between our chests had me aching to pull him closer.

     "Maybe there's no point," he said, raising his shoulders in quiet defeat.

     "What do you mean?" I managed to say around the feeling of my heart skipping a beat, tugging at his waist, urging him to come close again. He didn't move.

     "It's two months, then you're off to college," he pointed out grimly. "And then what? Maybe we're just . . . stalling. Delaying the inevitable."

     The familiarity of his tone wiped away whatever remained of my smile. The preemptive resignation, the defeat before the battle had begun. I remembered pretty clearly the way he'd sounded the day in Pittsburgh when he told me I was just another ill-fated hope, when he said he just wanted to stretch what we had for as long as he could.

     Like he was sure we were going to end before we began.

     And he was right. Back then, he was completely right. I didn't want to fall in love, and he didn't want a future.

     That was back then. This was now.

   "Fuck," he whispered, his head dipping downward. "This was a mistake. Fuck. I shouldn't have-- we shouldn't have, fuck, why don't we ever think before we get into this shit?"

     He edged back, away from me. Stepped out of my grip completely. 

     "Wait," I said, hearing the panic in my own voice, the fear that he was about to walk down the hill and out of my life after I'd just barely gotten him back in. "Wait, Jamie, hold on, can we talk about this? Before you make up your mind?" 

     I waited for a yes from him, but the only sign I got was his heels digging into the ground, stopping him from backing away further.

    So I braced myself for his response and said, "You know how a few minutes ago, you said you like me crazy?"

     Jamie narrowed his eyes warily. "What are you thinking?"

     Praying that I wouldn't regret it, I said, "I'm thinking that this place is absolute shit. And I know you have this whole plan all figured out where you wait until you're eighteen and out of the house and then just let life do whatever to you afterwards. I know that's your plan, I know, you've told me over and over, but—"

     Jamie dragged a hand roughly through his hair. I saw him open his mouth to speak, I could hear the coming protest in the breath he took, but I said, "Hold on, okay? Just hold on. Do you remember when you told me how much you like the city? Something about the way it grabs your attention. You said it's the kind of place you'd like to live and I promised I would take you back sometime," I remembered in one breath, rushing to get the words out as if he'd cut me off any second. Sighing, I lifted my hands to his face, holding his jaw and gently raising his chin so that he could see my intention. "Well, I never went through with that. And I'm thinking . . . I'm thinking that, if you want to, you could come with me. Not just to California."

     Jamie's fingers held my wrists, keeping my hands on his face as he shut his eyes and shook his head. "That's crazy," he muttered.

     "I warned you."

     "You . . ." he squeezed his eyes so tight, he wrinkled his eyelids. "We can't do that."

     "Why do I feel like we can?" I tried.

     "I don't know, Liam," Jamie's eyes shot open, bright and adamant. "Becuase we really can't. There are so many ways that could crash and burn — I mean, think about it. We've been apart more than we've been together. We've never worked."

     I pushed my fingers into his hair to tilt his head further back, stopping him from turning away like I could tell he wanted to. I needed him to look at me. "See, that's where you're wrong. We've always worked," I said earnestly. "We clashed, sure, but when we were together, we were good for each other-- held each other up, didn't we? Even with everything that was going on in the background, being with you was the best I ever felt. The only reason we ended the way we did was because I wasn't ready to feel that good with someone. Yeah, you're right, we've been apart longer than we've been together, but I needed to figure out where I was wrong before I could get this right. Maybe this is it, Jamie. Maybe this is how we get it right. But . . . if it really doesn't sound good to you, we can figure something else out. No pressure, okay?" 

     Jamie kept on looking at me like I wasn't seeing something. "We have no fucking idea how to be together," he said like he hadn't heard that last part at all. "For us to be in the same place all the time . . . how can we be ready for that?"

     "Jamie, if that's what you're worried about, we don't have to live together. You can stay with Stevie and I can dorm, or some other arrangement, or we can just forget it and pretend I never said anything. Whatever you want. We'll make it work."

      Again, Jamie acted like I hadn't just offered to drop the idea altogether. I was starting to seriously wish I hadn't brought it up at all. "And what happens if you get tired of it?" he asked. "What happens when I take your offer and pack my things, and by the time we've left California you're sick of me?"

     It sounded so ridiculous to me, I would've laughed if I could. "Jamie, even when you couldn't stand the sound of my voice and you did everything in your power to get under my skin, I couldn't find the sense to get sick of you, but you think I will now that I know how you really are? You've had me wrapped around your finger since day one." I slid one of my wrists out of his grasp and wrapped my hand around his, toying with his pointer finger as if to say, this one. This one right here. "I've seen you at your worst and your best. I want both."

     "But what happens if you don't?" Jamie insisted. "What happens to me? If I go to Pittsburgh with you and something goes wrong, where am I supposed to go? How is that any better than what'll happen when my parents throw me out?"

     I shook the hand that I held between us like I could jar him awake somehow. "Listen, Jamie," I said, pleading. "I can't promise you forever, because I don't think anyone ever really has that power. I can't tell you exactly what's coming. But I can tell you that no matter what happens between us, I'm going to make sure you're alright. And I'm telling you, right now, that I wanna give you -- and this --" I shook our joint hands again. He stared at our fingers where they interlocked. "My all. I want to try you and me, for real." 

    My voice dropped, and I paused to kiss the tips of Jamie's knuckles, lingering there as I struggled to put my thoughts into words.

     "But look, that doesn't have to mean a drastic change if you don't want it. It's just an idea. Maybe it's stupid, I don't know, you sort of make me stupid. But we can do something else. All I want is to go into this knowing we want it to last this time. It's insane we didn't have that before, because I look at you now and I can't imagine how I ever saw your face and didn't think, holy fuck, I wanna see that for the rest of my life. If I'm honest, that's all I can think right now. Whether we're in the same room or hours apart, that won't change."

     Jamie wasn't hearing me. He pulled his hands away from mine to press the heels against his eyes. His breath trembled when he exhaled. Sounding exhausted, he said, half to himself, "I can't do this."

     When he moved his hands, his eyes were red.

     Whatever hopeful persistence had been pooling behind my ribs drained itself dry, and any argument I had fell away without another thought. "Hey, look, I'm sorry," I said softly, pulling him against me. For a horrible second, I thought he might push me away, but he did the opposite, tucking his arms around my torso and hugging himself closer. As I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, guilt sent my stomach tumbling. "Don't cry, I'm sorry. I'll drop it, okay? Please don't cry," I muttered into his hair, staring behind him into the trees. "I didn't mean to upset you, I just thought . . . it doesn't matter. Forget I even brought it up. We'll figure something else out. Pittsburgh isn't that far, we can do the distance thing, or . . . or whatever. It's okay."

     Jamie's head dipped against my chest. "You didn't upset me. I'm just-- I'm freaking out," he said quietly. "I'm freaking the fuck out, Liam, because before you even said anything, I was thinking the same thing, and that's really fucking scary."

     He lifted his head, hair brushing against my jaw as he did, and I tilted my chin so I could look at him without letting him go.

     "I spent a lot of time thinking getting out wasn't an option for me," he continued, sliding his arms underneath the hem of my shirt for warmth. They were cold against my skin. "And then, even when it did seem like an option, it never really was — not with Penelope back home. And I know I should do things for me, not for her. I know, okay? But that's really fucking hard when she was the only thing keeping me alive for a while."

     He groaned and leaned his head onto my shoulder. "I mean, she's the only reason I started trying to fix anything at all. You know that. But then you shoved your way into the picture and started saying all of the stupid optimistic shit you always say and I started thinking what if, and I was so pissed at myself for liking the thought . . .

     "And even when I thought we were done, when things were going back to normal, you had to say more stupid optimistic shit and put all these pictures in my head, and I guess I've never been that good at not listening to you . . . and even when everything was changing, no matter how hard I fought it, you were the person I saw whenever I shut my eyes and dreamed of what that future might look like. And . . . it's nice, Liam. It's pretty.

     "But it's fucking confusing." Jamie put his face in his hands. "Because I haven't seen anything like it in years, and I don't know if I can handle it, and honestly I don't know if I'm allowed to want it. Not when she's the reason it all started to begin with. How fucking horrible would I be if I just walked away and left her after she's kept me going for so long?"

     Rubbing my thumb over the back of his neck, I said, "Not at all. It's your life, Jamie."

     "Everything's a lot less complicated when it isn't."

     I didn't know how to respond to that. So I asked him, "What do you want to do?"

    Taken aback, Jamie raised his head with a puzzled frown and stammered around for an answer. "I-- what? I don't know . . . I--"

   "What do you really want to do? Say the first thing that comes to your mind."

  That did the trick.

  "I want to leave."

     It came out rushed, like water bursting through a crack in a tank. Jamie looked like he hadn't expected the words himself -- like they had slipped out of his mouth before they'd processed in his head. I raised my eyebrows in question, urging him to continue.

     "I . . . want  to leave," he said again, like he was making sure he'd heard himself correctly. "I want to get away from my parents and their house and this school and this town and the people and the memories and, shit, I want to leave; I want to eat enough food and be good at school again, maybe even go to college, and I want to get help with all of the shit in my head, and yeah, I want to be with you, but . . ."

     "But?"

     "But I don't think I can have all of that," he finished bitterly, cutting his eyes to the sodden grass beneath our feet.

     "Why not?"

     "Because," Jamie said, full of resentment. Not at me. At everything else. "That shit doesn't happen to me."

     The fact that he thought that made me want to punch the fucking stars for giving him such a shit deal. He'd had nothing but bad luck.

     "Maybe you have to make it happen," I said. Clearly fate wasn't going to do it for him. But I'd always thought fate was bullshit, anyways.

     Jamie grimaced. "I don't know if I can."

     I kissed his forehead, then his cheek. "Let me help you."

     Jamie's hands were a familiar, welcome weight on my chest as I moved to his other cheek. "I don't like being a leech."

     "That's fine," I said, my lips brushing against his skin as I spoke. "Because I think we can agree that I need a lot of help, too."

     Jamie's nose bumped against mine as he looked up at me. Slowly, his expression changed. Lifted. Something fell away from his stare. Whatever it was, it must have been heavy, because he seemed lighter, like he'd just shed whatever dead weight was holding him back, when he nodded and said, "Okay."

     One word -- one quiet, murmured word -- made me forget how to breathe for a moment, and nothing, not even the air, seemed to move between us in the seconds that followed. The storm was long gone, but I hardly noticed.

     "Okay?" I repeated, more of a question.

     "Yeah," he sighed, lighter than a feather. Lighter than air. "Okay. You and me. For real."

     The smile finally came back to his face after he said that. Like he loved the sound of it. I loved the sound of it.

     Jamie put his fingers to his mouth. "Holy shit, I can't believe I just said that."

     Swallowing back the fear that I wouldn't like his answer, I said, "Are you sure? What about . . ."

     Jamie flinched, clenching his eyes shut and leaning his head onto the same spot against my shoulder where it had rested moments before. He didn't say anything for a long time, and I didn't try to coax him to. Just stood there and held him close while he struggled to come to terms with what he was saying.

     "My parents see the sun in her," he said eventually. "They love her more than anything; more than they ever loved me, I think. They would never hurt her, but if they did . . . she would tell me. Me and Pip, we tell each other everything. She'd be out of there in a heartbeat." His voice was steady, but I felt him shudder at the thought.

     We both knew that wasn't really what I was asking. Penelope would be fine with Jamie's parents. The issue wasn't who he was leaving her with.

     "What about you?" I asked. I said it gently, but that didn't make it prod any less.

     "I don't know what I'm going to do without her."

     I tried to imagine what my life would be like if Stevie wasn't able to drive down and spend time with me at her pleasure when time allowed. I couldn't.

    "Fuck," Jamie grumbled. "I need a cigarette."

     He must have heard the question I didn't ask out loud, because a few seconds later, he said, "Not really . . . not much. Sometimes."

     He sounded ashamed of it, so I leaned down and caught his lips to make him understand. He was working on it. I just had to hope that all of my admiration was channeled into my kiss. I had a feeling he got it, because when I started to lean away, he chased my lips, keeping me rooted for a lingering moment, and I could feel his budding smile.

     "I'm so crazy in love with you," I mumbled, holding his chin and tilting his face up towards mine, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. He made a face at the gesture, but his eyes were shining. I hadn't seen them like that in a long time-- forgot how bright they were.

     "How are we going to make this work?" he asked, looking up at me like I was the one with the answers. "I'm still seventeen. I'm not done with high school."

     Fuck.

     That made things harder.

    "Okay, um," I trailed, letting go of him to join my hands behind my neck. "Can't you . . . get emancipated?"

     "I don't know, can I?"

    "I have no idea," I admitted, wishing we learned about shit like this in school every once and a while. I looked back down at him, steeling over my determination. "But we'll find out. We'll spend the entire trip doing research and paperwork if we have to, and we'll have as much figured out as we can by the time we're ready to try. We're getting it right this time. But right now, let's just go, because you know as well as I do that we can't stay."

     Several seconds stretched past while Jamie just stared at me. There was a question in his eyes, but it wasn't for me, and I could only guess at what it was asking. Is this the right thing to do? Could it really work out? Can I trust him?

     Whatever it was, he seemed to answer it for himself. Nodding slowly, he said, "Let's go."

     I waited for a second. Just to make sure there was no but, no unless.

     Never the best at waiting, Jamie got impatient fast. He mocked the tentative look on my face with his own, rolled his eyes, gave my shoulders a shake like he was trying to bring me back down to earth, and said, "Let's go," again, more forceful this time.

      He meant it. Me and him. For real. 

     A stupid, massive, shit-eating grin took over my face, and a bubble I hadn't even noticed seemed to burst in my chest. I practically tackled him, drawing out a disgruntled yelp that was cut off by my lips over his. He was laughing as he kissed me back, his arms hooked around my neck, stumbling backwards until his back hit a tree. 

     Naturally, I was too relieved to not to say something stupid. I leaned close to his ear, and, instead of giving him the well-thought-out, sickeningly romantic, subtly sexy line he was probably expecting, I put on my worst Scottish accent and whispered, "If you had the chance to change your fate, would ya?"

      The surprised laugh that jumped from Jamie's throat sent a happy shock from my ears to my chest, warming me up from the inside out. He said something like, "I take it back, I'm not going anywhere with you," but I was too busy being hopelessly in love to really catch it, and he was too busy leaning in for another kiss to really mean it.

     "How fast do you think you can pack?" I asked, propping my wrists against the trunk to hold myself up. Jamie didn't mind being caged in one bit, and he dragged me by the collar until our lips collided again. I was breathless by the time he leaned his head back, and so was he, but he still managed to say,

    "How many hours until your flight?"

     "Four," I said, already leaning down again, too long deprived of his kisses not to miss them. "Probably more like three and a half."

    "We'll be at the airport in two, max," Jamie said quickly, then shut the space between us.

++++

By the time we got to Jamie's car, his lips were red and his hair was half dry, pushed out of his face save for a few strands that fell onto his forehead. He was shivering, hugging his arms, so, ignoring his protests, I ran to my car in a different section of the parking lot to bring him the windbreaker I kept in the backseat.

     When he put in on — it was so big on him, the sleeves went past his fingertips — and leaned back against the driver's side door, looking up at me under his lashes, I got a feeling I hadn't had in so long, it nearly knocked the wind out of me. The one I'd felt for the first time when we were canoeing in the city in the middle of December, the feeling of my heart plummeting, dropping straight to my stomach. Falling.

     "What?" he asked, rubbing his arms with an uncharacteristically shy smile, when I couldn't do much more than look at him.

     I turned my eyes to the floor to hide my stupid-happy smile. "Nothing."

     "Bullshit," he called me out. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

     "Why do you think?" I looked him in the eyes, and his cheeks went pink under my stare. "The way you look right now . . . I mean, can you blame me?"

     Jamie groaned and covered his face with his hands. Chuckling, I drew them away with my own and leaned down to kiss him. "Zip up," I said, pulling the sides of his jacket closed. "Don't get sick."

    Jamie rolled his eyes, but he zipped up my jacket anyways. "I'll meet you?"

     I nodded and stepped back to give him space. Whether consciously or not, he pouted a little when I moved away from him, and it was all I could do not to grab him and kiss him all over. Sadly, we didn't have time for that.

     "You've got this," I said as I backed away, giving him two thumbs up when doubt flickered across his face.

     He let out a long sigh through his lips and muttered something under his breath. I couldn't hear it, but it looked a lot like he was saying, "I've got this."

     As I turned around and started for my car, I could tell he didn't believe it. But I did.

     Jamie arrived at his house before I did, but I was the first to step out onto the driveway. I waited for him to get out of his car, but several seconds passed and his door never opened, even though the car was off.  Forehead creased with worry, I walked to the driver's side door and knocked on the window.

     Jamie was inside, but it was like he didn't hear me. He was staring down at his hands in his lap, motionless.

     I tried the door. It was unlocked, but he didn't even look up at me when I opened it. "Hey," I said to get his attention. "What's in your head right now?"

     Jamie bit down hard on his bottom lip. "I can't do it," he whispered.

     That could mean saying goodbye to Penelope. It could mean confronting his parents. It could mean both. I knelt down in front of the door and held his hands where they were on his lap, squeezing until they stopped shaking.

     "Hey, hey," I said slowly, waiting until he looked at me before I continued. When he did, and I saw the look on his face, my heart just about broke, and my voice faltered. "I know this is daunting. And right now, maybe it doesn't seem worth it. And . . . I don't know. People always say you should live in the moment; you know, focus on the present. But I don't think we can do that here. The present probably looks pretty shit right now. I think we've gotta live a little less in the moment and a little more in the future. Not the immediate future -- not tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. Think further ahead. Because I think things will be a lot better if we can get that far."

     Jamie scrunched up his nose at me. He was too fucking cute for his own good. Definitely too cute for mine. "You're so optimistic," he said. "It's gross."

     "I haven't been, not lately," I said honestly. "Not my fault you bring out the optimist in me."

     "Put it back," he grumbled.

     He was smiling, though. Just barely.

     "Hey, nothing wrong with being hopeful, right?" I stood slowly, drawing him out of the car. "'S the only way we're gonna get by."

     Jamie stood up straight, shuddering to steel his nerve. Then he shut his car door and led me inside.

     After a quick glance around to make sure nobody was in the living room, he pulled me deeper in the house, sneaking quickly and quietly to the door that led to his room down in the basement. I was pretty sure I didn't breathe at all until the door was shut behind us and the light was on. His anxiety rolled off of him in waves, as contagious as his laugh.

     When we made it down the stairs to the bedroom, Jamie looked as lost as I felt. His eyes roamed the room like he had never seen it before, like he didn't know where to start. "I have a suitcase around here somewhere, I think . . ." he said distractedly. "Or a duffel bag. I probably just need a duffel bag . . . Oh, you probably want to shower, right? The rain -- you can, if you want. Upstairs. You just have to be -- I mean --"

    "Hey," I cut him off gently, tugging at his wrist. "That's okay. Let's just get you sorted."

     Jamie nodded, sighing through his lips. "Right, okay. Sorted. Packed." Then he looked at me again, down at my wet shirt. "You really should at east change that."

     Jamie roamed through his drawers and brought me a Steelers t-shirt was was way too big for him. It was even a little big on me, but it was dry. He changed his shirt, too -- and pulled my windbreaker right back on over it -- then disappeared into a storage closet.

     While he was gone, I looked around the room again. I had only been down here once before. Back when we were just fooling around. It looked exactly the same: pull-out couch, wardrobe, desk, and dresser with a framed picture of him and Penelope on it. Lots of space, not nearly enough personality to fill it. Which was so crazy and so wrong, because Jamie was overflowing with personality. Looking around the room now, I pictured what it could be; the records he would have on the walls, the books he'd shove onto a shelf, the movies he'd stack on the desk. (I bet if he had it his way, he'd have a Polaroid wall and fucking fairy lights, because he was a basic artsy bitch at heart. Not that he'd ever admit it. But I'd seen his Pinterest)

     Jamie came back out with a suitcase and a duffel bag. Neither were very big; he claimed there wasn't much he wanted to pack.

    "I don't have all that much to choose from."

     He really didn't. As far as clothing went, he had the necessities for each season and not much else. Not that he needed much -- he spent most of the year in his uniform.

     Which, by the way, he was also bringing with him.

     "Why the fuck would I bring that?" Jamie asked, borderline disgusted, when I started folding his blazer.

    "Why wouldn't you?"

     "This school could burn to the ground for all I care." He walked around the couch to snatch the jacket, but I held it up, out of his reach. Jamie gave me his best death-glare; he hated when I used my height against him. 

     "What if I want you to bring it?" I said.

     "Why would you --" Jamie started to say. Then he saw the look I was giving him -- my best raised-brow, figure it out look -- and cut himself off. Scoffing, he said, "The shit that you get off on . . ."

    Taking that as a challenge, I shut him up by leaning down. He stopped short of whatever he was going to say to met me in the middle, raising his chin to reach me. In sly retaliation for his little comment, I brought one hand to his neck, my thumb on one side of his throat, my fingers on the other. He pushed closer, leaning wholly and willingly into my grip, humming behind his lips.

     "You're one to talk," I said, letting go of him, smirking a little to myself when it took a moment for him to recover.

     I wasn't sure he even heard me. His eyes glazed down, then up, raking appreciatively across my form, and when they locked with mine, his teeth were closing on his lower lip, tugging. I forgot my little victory as my eyes zeroed in on his mouth like there was nothing else in the world I could possibly look at. His fingers beneath my chin drew my face toward his, urging me closer with a ghost-like touch, and my eyes fluttered shut.

    "We can play this game all night, Liam," Jamie muttered. The contact was gone, and when I blinked my eyes open, he was stepping back, grinning triumphantly like he knew he'd won. "But we both know how it'll end."

     I couldn't even argue with him, because he was one hundred percent right.

     "We should . . . pack," I said, admitting defeat, ignoring the warm feeling that was stirring at the pit of my stomach. One more touch from Jamie and I'd be hot all over. Packing was definitely the smartest option.

     It took practically no time. Jamie didn't hesitate in deciding what to bring and what to leave behind. He didn't give a shit what happened to most of his things. Plus, he was moving so fast, you'd think he was playing Hot Potato with his clothes. That was how I could tell he was still nervous.

     When we were done, and the suitcase and duffel bag were as full as they'd get, we dropped down onto the couch together, tangled up and more tired than we should have been. Jamie was staring at something over my shoulder. I turned to look and saw the picture of him and Penelope on the dresser.

     I nudged him with my shoulder. "You should bring it."

     Jamie scooted off the couch. I was starting to stand to follow him when he made his way back, settling down heavily next to me. He held the picture in both hands and didn't say a word. It couldn't have been taken more than a few years ago, but Jamie looked completely different; his cheeks were fuller, his skin was darker, his hair was dirty blonde. He and Penelope were in some sort of field, standing in grass that came up to Penelope's waist, radiant in the afternoon sun. Jamie's thumb traced the pig-tailed outline of Penelope's face, and when he got to her goofy grin, the corner of his lips edged up in a smile so private, I looked away.

     A popping sound drew my eyes back. Jamie had pulled out the back of the frame. He carefully pulled the photograph out, and I watched, puzzled, as he unfolded it, revealing a hidden second half. Two adults stood with them in the grass, a man and a woman. Their smiles weren't as wide, but they met their eyes plenty.

    It was the first time I'd actually seen Jamie's parents. I was sure I'd passed them around town at some point or another, but never for long enough to recognize. His dad was tall and firmly built, with short dark hair, narrow brown eyes, and a strong nose. He seemed pretty young, but his face was already cut with shallow stress-lines. In this picture, smiling, he looked like a nice enough guy. But it was too easy to imagine his face twisting into a scowl, his shoulders hunching to make himself look bigger and scarier.

     And his mom . . . well, she was Jamie. They could've been siblings. Even their eyes were the same.

     "You look exactly like your mom," I said, stunned.

     Jamie ran a finger across her face. "Funny how one little change can make a person suddenly stop seeing that resemblance."

      He sounded like he had more to say, so I turned to him, inviting him to continue if he wanted.

     "I guess it's probably time you got the sob-story, right?" he said.

     "Only if you want to tell it."

     Jamie shrugged like it didn't matter either way. But I stayed quiet, leaving it up to him, and he made the choice for himself.

     "I thinking nothing could go too wrong," he huffed. "They've always been on the conservative side, but it was me. Not that they loved me all that much to begin with -- the second Pip came into the picture . . . well, I told you, they see the sun in her. I don't think they ever understood what it meant to give their attention to more than one kid at once. But they still, you know, loved me. So I just sat them down and told them.

     "They didn't shout or anything. They just got up and walked away. And I was crushed, but also kind of . . . hopeful, I guess? Things were supposed to just get better from there. But then, a week later, they finally did come talk to me, together. And they still didn't yell, but you don't really have to when what you're saying is bad enough. They told me they didn't want me around Pip, influencing her. A week later, they told me to move to the basement. One more week, and my dad saw me eating the dinner my mom had cooked that night, and, I don't know, he just lost it. I guess she wasn't around to keep him mellow. He cornered me and got in my face and screamed all this shit about wasting space, wasting money, wasting food. His logic was that he didn't support who I was, so he wouldn't support me. That's why every cent I make at work goes toward paying whatever expenses they aren't willing to take care of anymore.  'Fend for yourself. You might as well get used to it. The second you're eighteen, you're out.'"

     I took Jamie's hand, but he didn't look upset. Like he'd been bitten enough times to stop feeling the sting.

     "He said some other stuff, too. Like, if he ever saw me bring a guy here, he'd take away whatever was left -- my phone, my car. My bed. Make me miserable, like I wasn't already. He still does that every once in a while -- corners me when mom's not home, calls me a faggot and shouts the same threats. 

     "That was when I stopped trying, I guess. I was already hanging on by a thread after I lost my best friend." 

     He didn't say her name, but I remembered. Rosie Andrews. Suicide. Freshman year.

     "When she died, I put everything I had left into school. That talk with my dad was like a breaking point. I ran out of energy. I bleached my hair -- because what kind of gay would I be if I didn't bleach my hair during a mental breakdown? And after it was done, when I looked at myself again, I didn't recognize myself. There was no one left, you know? Who cared. Just my sister, and my dad made it pretty clear that she'd be out of my life the second he wasn't legally responsible for me.

     "So I stopped giving a shit about school. I got a fake ID and started going to Vagabonds to let older guys have their way with me. I tried every drug I could get my hands on for an escape; I pretended not to notice when dudes slipped shit into my drinks because I just didn't care what happened to me. I got so close to getting addicted to coke that I locked myself in my room for a week with seven cigarette packs and a lighter and forced myself into a new addiction, one Penelope wouldn't be able to see. I started being rude to everyone so no one could hurt me — the only people who still tried were your old friends."

    I wished for a second that I was still in school so I could wring Zack's neck for the hell he caused Jamie. "I'm sorry I didn't do anything."

     Jamie shrugged. "You didn't know. It's not your fault you're the good guy. . . But, yeah. You saw the guy I turned into. I'm still that guy."

    I squeezed his hand. "You're not."

     He was trying not to be. 

     There was a knock on the door. Jamie jumped at first, but he relaxed almost immediately. It was Penelope's knock. Dun dun dun-dun dun, dun dun.

     Then he remembered what was about to happen, and he didn't look so relieved. He looked my way, a silent plea for reassurance.

     "Come in!" he called out.

++++

jamie is, in the words of my good friend david, a kinky little twinkie