"Have you ever kissed another guy?" I ask suddenly. Fabian glances up at me from his seat on the old arm chair, where he's sitting with his knees bent to his chin and his arms wrapped around his shins. He looks even smaller than usual. Vulnerable. Maybe I shouldn't have asked.

I see something similar to self-consciousness or hesitation or possibly both flicker across Fabian's face. He narrows his deep hazel eyes at me, like he's trying to decide what my angle is. Why I want to know. Am I going to laugh at him? Blackmail him? It's not like I'm above either of those things, if we're speaking honestly.

But I genuinely want to know, and I think that that must show on my face because he replies "No. I haven't," and then buries his face in his arms once again. A turtle retreating into its shell.

But, ah. Just as I thought. He never has. "Then how do you know that you're gay?" I respond.

Fabian arches an eyebrow at me. "Have you ever kissed a boy?" he asks me, and I have no idea where he's going with this, but I'm caught off guard.

"No! Of course not!" I exclaim from my place across the room. I'm not a homo. Not like him.

"Then how do you know that you're straight?" he fires back, and grins at me. Oh. Oh, that's where he's going with this. I can't respond, because, for once, I am at a loss for words, and his grin turns into a smirk. "That's what I thought," he says. Suddenly he's got this stupid, cocky little smile on his face.

He thinks he's got me all figured out. Where is all this confidence suddenly from? What happened to the little turtle that was sitting in front of me thirty seconds ago? I think that the turtle got eaten or something, because he's nowhere to be found.

I scoff loudly and stand up to leave, because I have nothing more to say to him. He's the gay one, not me. Honestly, why am I even talking to him? His smirk turns even more arrogant as he realizes that I'm leaving, and wow, I can't leave now. That would be letting him win. And I always win. Jerome Clarke is a winner.

"Leaving so soon? Our talk was just getting interesting."

Now it's a challenge. No way in hell am I losing to nerdy, short, Fabian. "No, actually," I reply, "I'm about to prove a point." Fabian arches another eyebrow at me, which has got to be one of the most annoying things that he does. "Stand up," I command, and Fabian looks confused. Good.

He unwraps his arms from around his shins and stands up straight. "Alright."

Three strides is all it takes to get across the room when you're as tall as I am, and I'm facing Fabian within a second, our faces two inches apart at the most. His breathing hitches suddenly, and now it's my turn to raise an eyebrow at him. He looks up into my eyes and then down at the dusty hardwood floor.

I place my hand on his hip, and press my thumb against it slightly. Enough pressure for his breathing to become unsteady again. He looks up, hazel eyes wide and questioning and possibly fearful. If anyone were to walk into the living room right now, it would be kind of a hard situation to explain. The player and the gay boy. Great.

I'm proving my point. I feel nothing. So although perhaps my question to him about how could he know if he was gay or not was obviously not a valid question, neither was his. Because if there was even the slight possibility that I was gay, or bisexual, or whatever you call it, I wouldn't be this composed. Only somebody who is totally confident in their straightness can brush his thumb over another guy's bare skin and not freak out.

"What are you trying to prove?" Fabian whispers, and I'm surprised that he's mustered up enough strength to speak right now. From a turtle, to a proud lion, to a puppy.

Suddenly, this is fun. This is a fun game. Messing with people. This is so much better than pranking. Toying with actual emotions is much more satisfying than laughing at Amber for screaming after I put a rubber bug in her shoe. And suddenly, I don't know what I'm trying to prove. But it doesn't matter anymore, because I lean into Fabian, my lips hovering above his and my breath ghosting over his mouth.

This is exciting. This is new. This is something different than all the boring stuff that normally happens at this school, or should I say, prison.

Because this means absolutely nothing to me. But it means everything to Fabian, who is holding his breath, waiting for me to seal the space in between us.

My thumb is still stroking his exposed skin where the hem of his shirt has lifted up.

I close the gap, just barely, and our lips touch, and this isn't funny anymore. Because his lips part slightly at my touch. Because mine do too. And I jerk away slightly, but only an inch or so. And then, something must click, because our mouths find each other's again.

And this time, it's not a lip brush. It's a kiss. It's not like kissing a girl. It's rough and hot and not gentle at all. I fist his hair, and holy shit, he lets out this throaty sort of noise and my knees feel weak. This isn't funny. There's another boy's tongue down my throat, and suddenly, this isn't funny one little bit.