I wasn't sure I wanted to think about that, so I blinked hard to clear my thoughts and leaned my head back, opening my mouth to allow the falling snowflakes to settle on my tongue.

     Jamie felt my movement and turned around to look at me, laughing behind closed lips when he saw what I was doing. "Are you eating the snow?" he asked disbelievingly.

     "Don't act like you've never done it," I grinned, turning my gaze down to him expectantly. "Come on, you know you want to. Open up."

     "Haven't I heard that before," he muttered, and I let out a hearty laugh.

     "I'm sure you have, you little slut," I teased. Jamie snorted, turning to face the yard and leaning his head back onto my shoulder. He raised his chin and stuck out his tongue; almost immediately, a white flake fell onto its tip.

     "Who would have thought," Jamie said sarcastically. "Tastes like water."

     If the joking and the laughter were speaking honestly, they told me that Jamie was in an okay-enough mood. And if that was the case, it meant I had some chance of sharing the proposal I'd been harboring for the past week without getting too harsh of a response. Might as well just go for it.

     I cleared my throat. "So, I'm gonna be over at my sister's apartment for a week. To celebrate the New Year and all," I began slowly. Jamie nodded to show that he was listening. "And I thought, well . . . you shouldn't have to spend your entire break in a household that treats you so badly."

     For the second time that night, Jamie tensed up in my arms, but this time, he didn't relax after a few moments. "What?" he said in a tight voice.

    I swallowed nervously. Seconds passed in silence as I tried to figure out some way to approach this; I knew that elaborating could flip Jamie's mood as easily as flicking a light switch.

     I felt I should continue, though. Release everything I'd been piecing together since my one-time visit inside his house.

     "Your parents -- they're really awful to you, right?" I asked, not expecting nor receiving an answer, but feeling Jamie stiffen ever more. "They pushed you into the basement, and they treat you like shit, and they . . . they try to keep you away from Penelope."

    Jamie didn't confirm anything, but he didn't deny, either. He didn't stir at all.

"Is it — is it because you're gay?"

He didn't respond, but I saw the answer clearly enough.

     Somehow, his silence made me more anxious than if he'd just snapped.

    "Being home in an environment like that all break . . ." I trailed, "no one should have to go thought that. Well, no one should have to go through it at all, but . . . the offer stands for you to come with me. Escape to the city for a while. I've talked to Stevie, she's totally okay with it. If you don't want to, that's cool, too, but I thought I'd give you the option."

     Jamie was silent for so long, I wondered if he was just letting his anger build so that the coming explosion would be as violent as possible. Needless to say, I was shocked when I felt him easing into me again, not quite calm, but not on the verge of lashing out, either.

     "I can't leave Penelope," he said finally.

      I pursed my lips. "But Penelope isn't the one who gets mistreated," I pointed out, careful to keep my tone light. "She can live without you for a week. Listen, I'm not leaving until Sunday, so you don't have to worry about it right now. Just keep it in the back of your mind."

   Jamie only nodded. I was positive he wasn't convinced, but I didn't bother press the subject. The quiet was tense for a heartbeat. Then he said, "Thank you. For offering."

   The air was instantly calmer, and I felt both myself and him relax as I said, "No problem."

    Jamie leaned further into me. The conversation was behind us. I tightened my hold around his waist, and we settled into easy quiet. For a little while longer, we watched the snowfall, but I was finding it seriously hard to focus on the sky when Jamie's fingers were drumming absentmindedly against the back of my hands.

    I really, really didn't want to like him. Things would be so much easier if I could tell myself that I didn't.

    But Jamie had me hitched. Stupidly, inescapably hitched. I wanted more than a hookup, or a booty call, or a friend-with-benefits, or whatever the hell we were.

The feeling was pretty shit, because I knew he would never give me that.

    Even if, by some miracle, Jamie did feel what I had been feeling lately, he would never let it be anything more than that: a feeling. He was far too guarded, too defensive. He refused to let himself be vulnerable.

    Maybe there was a chance, though.

"Jamie . . ." I trailed.

I almost did it. I almost gave myself away. It seemed so easy now to just confess and leave everything at his disposal. But I closed my mouth before I could, quiet for the sake of self-preservation.

Yet I was still sure I had let too much slip. It was all there in the name; the raw, exposed tone of my voice, speaking without my brain's permission, because it was fucking hard to control myself around Jamie.

"Hm?" he hummed, but that alone was strained — like he'd heard it but wanted to ignore it. I felt his hands tighten on mine, reflexively, not helping. I didn't respond — I didn't trust myself to. I didn't even know what I would've said, now or moments before; just that it would have been too much. A bad mistake.

Jamie turned his neck, shifted his body to look at me. The blanket fell from his shoulders, but he hardly seemed to notice. I didn't want to, but I met his eyes; they stared into mine, blue and hazel and uncertain. I didn't know what he was thinking. I never knew what he was thinking. Maybe that was the most frustrating thing about him.

     His lips parted, and I thought he was going to say something, but then they closed again, and the silence was too heavy.

"We should . . ." I began, but I was speaking just to speak, and I didn't have anything to say. Even if I did, my voice died when I felt Jamie's hand at the side of my neck. My arms involuntarily pulled him closer, tightened around his waist -- not for contact or warmth, but because I just wanted to hold him.

     When I couldn't wait another moment, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his, and it was as bad as it was good because I felt too much.

     It was soft -- too soft for us, abnormal. Jamie's other hand was on my cheek, a gentle, calming touch that was so unlike us but somehow so like him. I was gripping his shirt, dragging him closer, desperate for some semblance of normalcy, but everything was new now.

     I held his jaw, ran a thumb across his bottom lip, pressed his mouth open. The snow was forgotten, the cold dissipating as our bodies grew hot. Finally I felt it; the lust, the fervor, the familiarity. But it still wasn't the same, even as Jamie pressed closer to me, wrapping his arms around my neck. Even as my hands held his waist tight, as my fingers dipped down to squeeze his hips.

     "Inside," I whispered, "Let's go inside," because yeah, if the neighbors looked now, they might've done a double-take -- it wasn't often that two boys were spotted making out on the Bane family roof.

    There was a sloppy, kiss-drunk rush to get down from the ladder, to hurry into the house. The back door had hardly shut behind us when I pushed Jamie up against it. He let out a startled moan, fingers gripping my biceps just to stay upright, and I felt my sanity slipping, replaced by everything Jamie. I tugged his coat from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor somewhere. My hands found his sides, pulled his lower-half forward against mine.

   "Liam —"

   That was it. I lost it. I pushed my hips into his, made his back hit the wall, heard more sounds slip through his lips. And I kept rocking, kept kissing him hard, hands slipping down behind him, past the hem of his jeans, relentless.

     "Room," he practically gasped against my lips, balling my shirt into his fists. "Let's go to your room."

    I pulled him down the hallway, grateful that my bedroom was close, and then he was on his back on my bed and I was propped on my forearms, legs between his, dipping my head down into his neck, open-mouthed, careless about leaving a mark. And he was was panting beneath me, back arched, hips lifting uncontrollably, the friction making my head spin.

    I sat up, grabbing him by his neck and pulling him up as well. His sweater was tossed, discarded, onto the sheets. My hands slipped under his shirt, pushed it up to his chest with my lips following every movement, pulled it off over his head. Next went my hoodie, and it was his bare chest against mine, and our bodies still rocked, slow and unyielding. I could feel Jamie losing control, feel him straining against his jeans, and I was more worked up than I'd ever been.

    "Lie down," I murmured. I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my jeans, and he watched me, staring up at me with half-lidded eyes. "Fuck, the way you look right now . . ."

    I saw his lips part, felt his hips jerk, at the growl in my voice. I crashed my mouth against his, my hands lifting his small waist so that I could pop the button of his jeans and tug down his zipper, and then the pants were gone. I'd never been so hard, never seen Jamie so hard, never heard him like this. I was fighting for any semblance of control now, but I was too far gone; my hand fisted into his hair to tug his head back, giving myself access to his neck, and Jamie whimpered below me, his fingers digging into my shoulder blades.

     I made my way down again, dragging my lips and teeth over his chest, his abdomen, feeling his body shudder when I kissed the inside of his thigh.

    "Liam . . ." he breathed. His fingers curled into the comforter.

    "Tell me," I groaned, raising myself to kiss him again, addicted to his lips. "Tell me what you want." Even thought I knew. Even though I was already pushing his legs apart, already reaching blindly to open the top drawer of my nightstand.

     Jamie's tongue was hot against mine. His hands ran down my chest, making my hips buck when they slipped down my briefs. "I want you to fuck me."

++++

I shut my eyes tight, my breath coming in gasps, my hair sticking to my forehead. I would never, ever forget what had just happened.

     When I opened my eyes, I met Jamie's, staring straight up at me. His chest was rising and falling heavily beneath mine, his eyes glazed over, his lips parted and red and swollen. I opened my mouth to say something, and so did he, but no sound came other than our breathing.

    I didn't know what to say. Everything had been perfect -- absolutely fucking perfect -- and I was scared to ruin that with my voice. All of a sudden, I was nervous -- nervous like I was some inexperienced kid, like I'd never done this before, like I needed approval.

     Then Jamie smiled -- a real, genuine smile that took over his whole face -- and that anxiety disappeared as fast as it had come. Next thing I knew, I was giggling like a fucking schoolgirl for no damn reason, and Jamie was, too. Then we were kissing, laughing lightly against each other's lips and hardly really kissing at all, and I thought, he has to feel this right now. The blush and the butterflies and the shivers and the sparks. He has to.

   This thing with Jamie, it was dangerous. A newly frozen lake. Yet there I was, knowing that but still walking -- no, not walking, fucking jumping -- on thin ice.

    "God," I sighed, pushing myself up onto my wrists. "You're incredible, Jamie."

    "I know," he said smugly, and I scoffed, rolling away from him onto the bedsheet. "So, was that as good as you don't remember?"

    "Even better," I grinned. "I'm guessing."

    I reached over him to the nightstand, grabbing enough tissues to do a decent clean-up job on the both of us. By the time a bunch of tissues and a dirty condom had been tossed into the trash-bin, we both had somewhat regained control of our breathing, and when I looked at Jamie, I  found him smiling again.

    "What?" I asked, but he only laughed. "What?"

    "Nothing," he said, earning a childish pout from me. "Nothing. Is it so crazy to think that I'm just in a good mood?"

    I snorted. "Coming from James fucking Alexander? Uh, yeah."

    "Rude," he snickered, smacking my chest lightly. "Listen, great sex can put any horny teenage boy in a good mood."   

    "Oh?" I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively. "Great, was it? Tell me more."

    "Fuck off," Jamie said, but he was grinning. "You're such an idiot, idiot."

     "Your pet name for me is just the sweetest," I joked, scooting closer and propping my head up on my elbow. "So romantic."

    Jamie was laughing as he tried to push me away, his efforts entirely in vain when I remained unmoving, smirking at his weak effort.

    "You're not tired, are you?" I teased, taking hold of one of his hands and easily pinning him down. Jamie let out a silent gasp when our bodies made contact, and I knew I had him hooked.

    "Of course not," he said, staring up at me defiantly. "I could do this all night."

    "Good." I hovered over him, close enough for our chests to touch, holding his hands against the sheet on either side of his head. "Because you're going to."

++++

We created a bit of a habit out of these Winter Break meetups at my house. I would text Jamie whenever I was bored or horny or missing him (the last of which I never admitted to out loud) and invite him over. Or Jamie would call me out of the blue, announcing that he was coming over, and I would have no choice but to quickly get ready. Not that I would have ever made a different choice even if there was an option.

     It was great.

     But not as great as it could be. Every day, I noticed that Jamie seemed to fall more and more unwell. Each time he came over, he looked more sickly than he had the night before. But he was always quick to distract me so I wouldn't get the chance to bring it up and even quicker to change the subject whenever I did. Either way, I was almost scared to ask.

     Just like his appearance, Jamie's mood had been worsening; it went from high to low too fast for me to keep track. One second, he was laughing, and the next, he was snapping for no reason.

    I had no clue what his deal was. I did notice, though, that I didn't feel at all different myself. If he was sick, surely I would have caught it by now. So either he had been right -- he wasn't sick -- or my immune system was a fucking beast.

     The annoying thing was, even with all of Jamie's bitchiness, I still looked forward to seeing him every day, and not just for the awesome sex. He was starting to seriously piss me off, yeah. A lot. But he was still Jamie. And, as always happens with a stupid crush, the good moments -- scarce as they were -- seemed to outweigh the bad every time.

It was Thursday, and it would be the last day that Jamie could come over, because my parents were coming home on Friday, Christmas Eve, and I was leaving for Stevie's on Sunday.

     We were tangled together on the living room couch, making out, when Jamie suddenly let out a sharp cry and pushed me away, gripping his head. I quickly scrambled off of him, my eyes wide and concerned.

"What's wrong?" I asked, but he seemed like he couldn't even answer, he was in so much pain. His eyes were shut tight, his face was screwed up, and he was breathing unevenly.

    It only lasted a few moments, though. Before I could come up with some way to help, Jamie's breathing evened out and his face relaxed, slowly but noticeably. In another minute or two, he opened his eyes and removed his hands from his head, though I could tell that the pain hadn't fully subsided yet.

     "I'm gonna -- I'm gonna get some water," Jamie said through a scratchy voice. I was about to offer to get it for him, but he had already risen to his feet.

     Just as quickly, however, he gripped his head again and fell right back onto the sofa.

     "Okay, really," I said seriously, tired of being in the dark. Jamie had been having moments like these all week, and whenever I asked, he dodged the question. Not this time, though; I wanted an answer. I felt frustrated and impatient and more worried than I would like to admit. "What is going on with you?"

     "Get off my dick," Jamie said harshly. There he went, shifting moods again, snapping when he didn't need to.

    I didn't take it, though. "No," I snapped right back. "No, this has been going on all week, and you need to tell me what's going on so I can figure out how to help you."

     "Fuck off," Jamie bit, his eyes narrowed. "Leave me the hell alone about it, would you?"

     "Why do you keep acting like it's a fucking crime if I care about you?" I said incredulously, feeling days of agitation leap to my chest.

     "Because I never asked you to!" Jamie retaliated, raising his voice just enough to make my eyes round. He stood from the couch again, and this time, he didn't lose his balance. "You need to stop badgering me about shit that isn't your business."

     I shot to my feet as well, pointing an accusing finger at him. "No, you need to stop pushing away one of the few people that actually gives a shit what happens to you. You're not fucking invincible, Jamie; just accept help when it's offered for god's sake!"

     "It's not my fault that you think it's your job to care!" Jamie hissed. "That you keep forgetting what I'm here for! We're hooking up, Liam! All we do is make out and fuck and get each other off! That doesn't involve you sticking your nose into my personal life!"

     "Oh, that's all it is, is it?" My anger started to blur my thoughts as I took an imposing step toward him. "Just a fucking hookup? You know as well as I do that it hasn't been just a hookup for -- how can you stand there and say that to me after everything--"

     "There is no everything!" Jamie interrupted fiercely. "I don't know what kind of stupid fantasy you've dreamed up, but nothing's changed. All we ever were is a hookup, and that's all we're ever going to be, so you might as well get that into your head now before you start thinking of engagement rings and wedding bells!"

     I ignored the splintering feeling in my chest, the sudden shaking of my hands, the dryness of my mouth. My voice uncharacteristically low, I said, "Get out."

     Jamie's eyebrows quirked up. "What?"

    "You're being a complete dick right now," I seethed, barely managing to keep my voice under control. "And since I shouldn't care," I strode over to my door, opening it wide and pointing out, "I shouldn't have to deal with it, either. Get the hell out."

Jamie glared at me for another moment. I stared just as intensely back, never wavering. After what felt like forever, Jamie stormed out the door, and I slammed it shut behind him.

It had only been closed for a few moments before I lashed out, still harboring a lot of anger that begged for release; as hard as I could, I kicked the door, letting out a bad-tempered yell. Ignoring the searing pain in my foot, I pressed my hands and my forehead against the rattling door, shutting my eyes tight and clenching and unclenching my fists on the wooden surface. There was a stinging behind my eyes, but I pushed it down. I would not cry over Jamie Alexander. I would not cry over Jamie Alexander. I would not cry over Jamie Alexander.

All I had ever wanted to do was be kind to him. Since the beginning, I had tried my best to put up with his shit. This was what I got for caring. There was no crown, it seemed, to being the nice guy. No matter what, Jamie was just . . .

Nothing. That's all we were to him. After the all the arguments and the midnight excursions to the lake, after the night in the treehouse and the kiss in the classroom, after I stood up for him, after the time on the roof . . .

We were still just a hookup to Jamie. If only I could see things that way. If only Jamie's words didn't make me want to kick the door a hundred more times, fifty for his coldness, fifty for my own stupidity in expecting anything else.

I smacked the door with my palm several times, streaming curses at both myself and Jamie, before finally pushing myself away from it, stopping right next to it by the window.

I peered through the blinds, watching as Jamie stood at the closed door of his car. He wasn't entering. He was leaning against the window just as I had been leaning against the door moments before, with his hands pressed to the glass.

Then they ran into his hair, gripping it too tight. I couldn't see his face, but I knew that he was suffering. Jamie was in pain, somehow.

My first instinct was to go outside and try to help. I held myself back, though -- I was done playing the good guy. The good guy only ever got hurt.

So I stood there and watched as Jamie's hands moved agitatedly into his pockets. When they came out empty, Jamie put his face in his hands, turning so that his back was against the car door.

His fingers slid up into his hair again, and the anguished look on his face was too much for me. I jumped away from the window as if it had shocked me and turned my back. Don't go outside, I ordered myself. Don't go outside.

My favorite part of this chapter is the fact that Jamie takes off like seventeen layers to get nakey and Liam just pulls off his hoodie and he's there bc I've lived in FL my whole life and I've never related to Jamie more

To anyone who's surprised by the lack of smut: hello, you must be new. Welcome to stayonbrand. That is all.