this took so long I'm sorry but yall I've got 30k words to write in November and I'm struggling so bear with me
also neta and david I love youuuuuu

After we left the tree house, Jamie and I continued as if there had been no incident between us. We met, we hooked up, we went our separate ways.

Throughout the week, I kept telling myself to stop thinking so much, to be careless again. But it wasn't easy. I'd reached a frightening point where I wanted more. And not more in terms of sex -- God, I wished it was only that. Sex was easy. But sex was far from my mind.

It was Thursday morning, after a history lesson that seemed to draw on forever, when something caught my eye as I walked down the hall to my next class with Bryan. I stopped and backtracked until I was stood in front of the defaced locker, a frown on my face.

"Dude, what are you looking at?" Bryan asked, turning to see why I had taken several steps back, his eyes rounding when he saw the locker, where FAG was written in big fat red letters. Then another voice came from my other side.

"Like the new art?"

I jumped. I turned to see Jamie standing there, holding several books and looking annoyed.
 
     "Who did this?" I asked quietly, already feeling anger pushing to the front of my mind.

"Ask your friend," Jamie said dryly, nodding toward Bryan, and I whipped around in disbelief.

"You?" I demanded.

"I--I didn't write it," Bryan said, his eyes wide and guilty. "Or support it, or--"

"But you were there," I guessed, my anger mounting fast. "And you didn't try to stop it."

"Can I get to my locker?" Jamie asked impatiently. I grabbed Bryan by the wist and stepped out of Jamie's way.

Without stopping to think, I pulled Bryan into the empty classroom by Jamie's locker, and didn't wait for the door to shut fully before turning on my friend and saying, "What's wrong with you? I can't believe you would just stand there and let your friends do something like that! Maybe it's not a big deal to you, but you have no idea how little things like that can affect other people! Do you really think that sitting back and watching makes you any less guilty than doing it yourself?"

I was livid. I remembered what Jamie had revealed to me weeks ago, about being picked on. About the suicide of his best friend.

"The guys just . . . they just thought it was funny," Bryan stammered.

"To who?" I snapped. "To who other than themselves? Do you guys ever stop and think about how you might make others feel?"

"I didn't --"

"I don't care if you wrote the damn thing, or stood and watched, or were just passing in the fucking hallway!" I fumed. "You had the power to stop them and you didn't. You don't know if Jamie, or any of the other kids you -- no, sorry, the guys -- pick on has their own shit they're dealing with. You don't know if that person is so close to breaking that one thing could snap them in half! So next time you want to sit back and watch someone scribble FAG, or make fun of someone's weight --" I thought of Rosie Andrews "--or anything like it, stop and think of how much that person might end up hurting for the sake of a few laughs!"

Bryan was staring at me with wide eyes looking slightly scared, but genuinely remorseful, too. "You're right," he said with a nod, and the guilt in his voice eased some of the anger I felt -- at least, toward him. "You're completely right, Liam, and I'm sorry."

I took a steadying breath. "I don't know what you're apologizing to me for," I said. I opened the door to the classroom, leaning against it as Bryan walked hesitantly out. Jamie had just fastened his locker shut, his arms now free of textbooks, when Bryan approached him. For someone who was two, maybe three times Jamie's size, he looked unmistakably intimidated. Jamie tended to have that effect on people.

"Jamie—James, I'm really sorry," he said, and I heard in his voice that he meant it. "That . . . nothing about that," he nodded toward the locker, "is okay. I'll come by after school and try to clean it off, or ask admin about painting over it, or something."

All Jamie gave him in response was a small nod. Bryan swallowed. "I, uh, I'm gonna be late. You coming, Liam?"

I shook my head. "I'll catch you later," I said, and Bryan didn't ask any questions. With a quick "Sorry again, Jamie," he hurried down the hall, disappearing quickly through the doors at the end.

A few moments later, the final bell rang, and any students who had been lingering in the hallway ran into their classes. I  turned to Jamie, still leaning on the open door, and said, "You were listening, weren't you?"

Jamie had a strange look in his eyes as he nodded. I began to step away from the door, but before it could close, he planted a hand on my chest, pushed me into the empty classroom, and slammed his lips against mine, kissing me like he never had before.

It was different. This kiss, it was so different, and I couldn't put my finger on why, but I wasn't really thinking about that as I responded, my mind going numb and my sole focus becoming the boy that was pressed up against me.

I had never been so quick to lose my breath, to lose myself in a kiss. When my fingers gripped Jamie's clothes, I felt it was out of necessity, to keep myself rooted to that spot so I wouldn't slip away or collapse on suddenly weak knees. My whole world in the moment seemed to be Jamie. Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. And it was a world I didn't mind living in.

Jamie was raised onto his toes, his hands gripping the sides of my neck, every so often slipping into my hair. We stumbled blindly further into the room, never once breaking the kiss, not stopping until my back hit a desk. In one swift movement, I flipped us around and lifted Jamie onto its surface, and almost instantly, his legs were wrapped around my hips. We were as close as we could be and yet we were pulling each other closer somehow, never truly satisfied.

I was nearly gasping for breath when I pulled away, feeling shaky and unstable all over, as if a soft flick might knock me down.

"Jamie," I breathed, lifting a hand to hold his cheek, not knowing what to say but feeling like I needed to say something. Because that kiss . . . that kiss hadn't been normal. Not for us.

My eyebrows furrowed worriedly, however, when I noticed how hot Jamie's cheek was. Way too hot to be healthy. "Are you okay?" I asked, doing nothing to hide my concern.

"I'm fi--" Jamie was cut off as he turned his head away from me and broke into a fit of coughs. He started to stand from the desk, but stumbled, clutching his head as if it was hurting, or dizzy, or both.

I grabbed Jamie around the waist and pulled him close. "What's wrong?" I asked, anxiety peaking.

"Nothing's wrong," he said stubbornly, his voice hoarse, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve.

"Jamie, you're sick," I insisted. "You need to see the nurse."

But Jamie said, "I'm not sick," with a confidence that I didn't understand. He turned his back as he started coughing again.

I spun him around by the shoulder and took his face into my hands. His skin was still burning. "Is it the flu?" I asked, the possibility of getting it myself the last thing on my mind.

"Liam, I promise you," Jamie said, his hands gripping my arms gently, "I'm not sick. Okay? Just trust me."

"Then what . . ?" I trailed, knowing Jamie well enough by now not to expect an answer. "Fine. You're not sick," I gave in. "But you're not in any condition to be here, either. Can I please just take you to the nurse? I'm eighteen, I can take you home if she gives the okay. You'll go home and rest off whatever it is you're dealing with."

Jamie sighed, apparently deciding this compromise was the best he'd get, and said, "Fine. But can we take my car? I don't want it sitting here all break."

"Deal," I nodded, figuring I could just call Bryan to pick me up from Jamie's house.

++++

I walked into lunch that day with a mission in mind. I stopped at my usual table without sitting down, resting my hands on the surface and leaning forward on my wrists.

"So," I said, keeping my voice casual as I gazed at my friends. There were five boys and two girls at the table, not including myself and Bryan, and I liked them all well enough, though they weren't particularly important to me. The only one I knew I needed was Bryan. "I saw your handiwork earlier," I finished.

I saw seven faces smile at me, but I also saw caution in their eyes. They knew I didn't like it when they did shit like this. Maybe that was why I never knew it was happening.

I kept an easygoing grin on my face, however, as I said, "Cool. Which of you were there?"

Bryan's hand went up first. Slowly, seven other followed.

"Wow," I breathed, chuckling. "All of you. And you didn't invite me?"

Zack Ferry, the captain of the soccer team, cleared his throat. "We thought you'd be mad," he said.

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows. "And why on Earth did you think that?"

Nobody provided an answer. Just when I was getting annoyed with the silence, Bryan said, "Because we knew it was wrong. And we knew you'd be against it."

I knew that Bryan was trying to help me, and I nodded gratefully. "Crazy, isn't it? To think someone might be against doing something that's wrong."

"It wasn't that big of a deal," Zack said, apparently the spokesperson of the group today.

"You don't know that," I finally snapped. "You don't know how you could be affecting people when you pull this kind of bullshit. You guys need to grow the hell up and realize you're not the center of the goddamn universe. Your shitty sense of humor isn't worth someone else's pain, and if you seriously think it is, you need to get your asses back down to Earth and have a reality check that I will be more than happy to provide."

I didn't elaborate on exactly what I meant, but I knew the underlying threat in my voice conveyed the message well enough. I may not have been as big as Bryan, but I was the only other football player in the group. I had size and popularity at my disposal against them.

"The game is over," I growled. "From here on out, you're done being the brainless highschool bullies people expect you to be."

"Who do you think you are, telling us what to do?" Zack snapped, standing up. "If you've got an issue, you don't have to watch."

"And if you're happy being a universally hated stereotype, then you can keep trying," I said, standing straight so I was staring down at Zack intimidatingly. "But I won't make it easy."

"Is that a threat?" Zack snapped.

"No, it's a fucking question," I said sarcastically. "What you're doing is wrong, man! How is knowing that not enough for you to stop? Why is hurting people fun for you? Are you that miserable?"

Zack fell into grudging silence. I could see him feeling guilty now, after I'd appealed to him personally. It was funny how hard it could be to argue with morals.

Besides, I had a feeling Zack wasn't a bad kid. None of them were. They were just arrogant, narrow-minded, and egocentric.

And homophobic. That part made me nervous, but I didn't show it.

"I'm serious," I said, this time turning to address the whole group, "when I tell you that if I ever find out that you've been harassing some poor kid again just for the hell of it, I don't care that you're my friends, I will side with that kid, no matter who they are, and you will wish you'd kept to yourself."

"I'm with him on that," Bryan said, causing the heads to turn toward him. Next to him, Reed Marrison scoffed indignantly.

"You can't say shit!" he protested. "You've been with us most of the times when we—"

"Bullied others?" Bryan finished for him sharply. "Yeah, and it was really shitty of me." He stood up, towering over Reed's sitting form—and Zack's standing one—completely. "Won't happen again."

Just like me, Bryan didn't conceal the threat from his tone. Not another protest was made. Zack sat down.

I smiled thankfully at Bryan. "Now that that's settled," I said, my voice suddenly casual again, as I strode to my usual seat across from Bryan. "I'm starving."

Bryan snickered and dug into his sandwich. Lunch was quieter than usual that day, except for Bryan and I's side of the table, where we chatted happily as if nothing had happened.

The next day, Friday, was a teacher workday. Or, as the entire student body thought of it: the unofficial start of Winter Break.

I spent the day at the mall with Bryan, shopping for the Christmas gifts we'd procrastinated on buying. A few times throughout the day, I saw something that reminded me of Jamie and felt a stubborn urge to buy him something. Each time, however, I reminded myself that that would be ridiculous; Jamie wouldn't want me to get him anything.

That didn't stop the thought from arising several times during the trip, though. It always brought with it unwelcome worries about Jamie's condition. I hadn't heard anything from him, and hadn't expected to, but I was finding myself increasingly desperate for some idea of what was happening. All I wanted to know was whether Jamie was still feeling "not" sick, or if the rest had paid off.

"You still dreading that trip to your aunt's?" Bryan asked me as we walked out of Godiva with gifts we knew our moms would love.

"Oh, I'm not going," I told him. Bryan raised an eyebrow.

"You got your parents to let you skip out?"

I grinned. "Not yet."

Now, I wasn't the best actor or liar. I tended to choke up whenever I tried. If there was one thing I could do, though, it was fake sick.

Which was how I ended up laying smugly on the living room couch on Saturday afternoon, feigning coughs and drinking soup my mom had made, while my family shuffled through the front door with suitcases in hand, Jacob glaring vehemently at me. Of course, my little brother had seen right through my act and attempted to make my parents as well, not wanting to suffer through a week with Aunt Lucile if I didn't receive the same torture. My parents were thoroughly convinced, however, so Jacob would have to suck it the hell up.

After being home alone for several hours, though, I realized there was an issue.

     I was seriously bored.

     There were no movies around I hadn't yet seen, no games I felt like playing. You'd think a household with so many pets could never be dull, but even they didn't seem interested in doing much other than sleeping. At this point, I would have preferred having homework to finding myself so painfully unamused. Yeah, it was bad.

I was lounging on my bed, spread-limbed, doing absolutely fucking nothing at nine that night when I thought to call Jamie. What better form of entertainment was there?

"I'm bored and lonely," I said when he answered the phone. "You should come over."

After a brief pause, Jamie said, "Okay," and hung up. Oh, how simple things were with him.

I scoffed at the idea. Jamie, simple. Yeah, right.

Jamie knocked on the door thirty minutes later. I couldn't help but notice he looked worse than he had on Thursday; his skin was even paler than usual, the circles under his eyes were darker. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was a good idea. Jamie looked very, very tired.

I didn't get much time to think on that, though, because next thing I knew, four dogs were racing toward me and Jamie, whose face lit up at the sight of them.

So now they wanted to wake up?

"Hello there," Jamie laughed, his voice laced with surprise, as he knelt down, instantly consumed by a wall of fur. Barking and wagging their tails, the dogs harassed Jamie and I for several minutes, excited at the sight of a new person, and I wasn't even annoyed, because the expression on Jamie's face was wonderful.

We had only just managed to escape to my room when yet another distraction arose to stall our plans — whatever those plans had been. I gasped as my eyes shot to the window, noticing something that definitely hadn't been there minutes before when I opened the front door.

"We have to go outside," I said immediately to a surprised and confused looking Jamie, who stared at me with furrowed eyebrows.

"Um . . . why?"

"It's snowing!" I bubbled excitedly, hurrying over to the window like a child, where I pressed my hands against the cold glass.

"You're kidding, right?" Jamie asked, but I had already begun walking toward the bedroom door. "Why are you acting like you've never seen snow in your life?"

"It's not just snow," I said exasperatedly, though I did love snow nearly as much as I loved rain. Grabbing a pullover from my closet, I said, "It's the first snow of the season!"

". . .Okay?"

"Ever since I was little, Stevie and I would climb onto the roof and watch the first snow," I explained hastily. I turned to see Jamie sitting down on the bed. "What are you doing? Get up!"

Jamie was still looking at me as if I was speaking gibberish, but he stood nonetheless. "Who's Stevie?" he asked. "And you're crazy if you think I'm climbing onto your roof."

I rolled my eyes impatiently. "My older sister. And I guess I'm crazy, then, because I do, and you are."

Jamie didn't say anything else as he pulled on the coat he had just taken off, so I took that as reluctant agreement.

As he was straightening up after putting on his boots, I noticed him stop and grip his temples for a moment, blinking his eyes hard. "Hey, you okay?" I asked, but Jamie, as usual, nodded like nothing had happened.

I wanted to press further, but Jamie cut me off swiftly by saying, "Don't you want to go outside?" It was a clear signal not to push it. With a sigh, I bit my tongue and led him out through the back door. I disappeared for a minute to fetch the ladder from the garage, and came back to find him leaning against the wall, shivering.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked, rubbing his arms, his breath fogging in front of him.

I shrugged. "Not really," I admitted. Though my clothes would, logically speaking, only be appropriate for winter if I lived in, like, Florida or some weird-ass place like that, I wasn't very sensitive to the cold. So long as my arms and legs were covered, I felt fine.

Jamie rolled his eyes and said, "Well good for you, because I'm fucking freezing." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, glaring enviously at me.

"Give me a minute," I said, and turned to head back inside the house, ignoring Jamie's incredulous call after me. I went straight to the living room, where I lifted the top of the ottoman to reveal a box in which my family kept several blankets. I chose the thickest, softest, fluffiest one and carried it with me back outside, where I found Jamie now sitting up on the roof, hugging his knees to his chest and staring up at the sky.

It was a bit of a challenge, getting up the ladder whilst trying not to dirty a massive blanket, but I managed well enough. Jamie didn't seem to notice my presence until I was feet away from him on the roof. He smiled appreciatively when he caught sight of the blanket.

"Thanks," he said as I sat carefully behind him. I draped the blanket around his shoulders; his fingers clutched the soft fabric and pulled it around him, his cheeks and nose pink from the cold.

My hands lingered on the blanket. I released it slowly, debating in my head between what I wanted to do and what I should do.

Then, slower still, I let my hands run down Jamie's sides to his waist, then slide around his middle. I could feel him tense, and I was about to move when I he began to relax. A moment later, he was leaning back into me, his own hands letting go of the blanket to rest over the ones clasped at his waist.

"Pretty, isn't it?" I asked, trying to distract myself from my own pounding heartbeat. The snowfall was light, easing slowly through the dark sky, each flake bright in the moonlight. I felt their fall was oddly rhythmic -- music that made no sound. Most melted the moment they touched the ground, but there were small heaps of survivors scattered across the yard. Each visit of an occasional breeze turned the air colder. It made my nose go numb, but also sent a small flurry of snow whirling past every time that tickled my face and excited my thoughts.

"It's snow," Jamie said dryly, but he'd turned his eyes back to the sky and showed no intention of looking away.

I smiled to myself. "It's pretty."

We stared out together for a long time, silently enjoying the scene. My mind began to wander as I sat there, just like it did in the rain. Back it went, stopping at Thursday morning. When Jamie had kissed me in the empty classroom. When I had felt something strong and sudden, yet breathtakingly refreshing, too -- like being awoken from a coma, as if Jamie had breathed a brief and fleeting bit of life into my lips.

It had been just that, though. Brief. Fleeting. It disappeared quickly, and I had found comfort in thinking that it would remain gone.

It didn't.

It was unexpected, because I had associated the feeling with a kiss. Yet Jamie and I weren't kissing now, and I felt that same stimulating, enlivening something spread to my chest from the spot where Jamie's hands held mine. I hated it.

I really liked it.

"Aren't you worried your neighbors will see us?" Jamie asked after some time.

It was a mix of amorous and romantic, I realized. The feeling.

"Nah," I said dismissively. "I come up here all the time. And when Stevie was here, we used to sit kind of like this."

Amorous, I was used to.

"Even if they do see us here," I continued distractedly, "They won't think twice about it. No way they'll look long enough to notice my company."

Romantic was really, really new.

"If you say so," clipped Jamie.

And really terrifying.