High school was a minefield of potential humiliation, but Kick had never hesitated to risk an explosion or two, and he'd been called Gunther's 'boyfriend' by everyone from Gordie to Kendall since elementary school, so it was no big deal to him if Gunther wanted to blatantly moon over him in the hallways, especially since he'd always done that anyway. Kick did have his limits, though he told himself it wasn't only because Gunther was a boy, even if he wasn't entirely sure he was okay with that yet. It wasn't really the boy thing that was bothering him, anyway. It was the best friend thing. Neither of them had ever had a real relationship before, and if they did it wrong, Kick was afraid they would end up like Kendall and Ronaldo, who hated each other openly and turned into spitting snakes if they had to come within five feet of each other.

"Can I ask you a question?" Kick said one afternoon when he couldn't take the anxiety anymore, dropping his tray down across from Kendall's in the cafeteria. She was sitting alone, as usual. Though she was beautiful and probably the smartest girl in school, she'd never learned how to stop making the other girls feel inferior in comparison, and she refused to date high school boys, so she spent most of her lunch hour with her thumbs flying over her iPhone, typing God knew what to her college boyfriend, some guy named Hampton who drove an electric car.

"Ask away," Kendall said, putting her phone down. She and Kick had become friends back in middle school, when Kick started defending her to the girls who treated her like an outcast just because she was, he had to admit, pretty awesome. He and Kendall had that in common: Kick's awesomeness prevented most guys from wanting to associate with him, because they couldn't handle it. This made Gunther all the more irreplaceable, which made Kick desperate enough to ask for Kendall's advice. Kendall was his friend now, but Kick still hated to admit that she was sometimes smarter than him when it came to things other than physics and geometry.

"Do you remember when we used to, like, kiss?" Kick asked, twirling spaghetti around his fork. "After school?"

Kendall's eyes went wide. "Kick –" she said, looking queasy.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm not reminiscing or anything. It was weird at best."

"Super weird," Kendall agreed, looking relieved. "I mean, you were cute—"

"Were?"

"Okay, you still are, sort of." She rolled her eyes. "But it was just – I thought there would be fireworks. 'Cause stuff is always exploding around you. And, uh."

"Yeah," Kick said. "I remember. 'Uh.' But, like. Okay. Don't try to read too much into this, alright?"

"Sure." She was already reading too much into it, surely, but Kick had no one else to turn to. He and Gunther were still a secret from everyone but Brianna, and he'd gladly erase Brianna's memory of the kiss she witnessed if he could. It wasn't that he was embarrassed of Gunther specifically, though it was kind of horrendous that the person everyone had teased him for being too close to since childhood had ended up even closer, in a new and slightly humiliating way. Kick just didn't want anyone knowing his feelings about anything. He wasn't okay with having feelings, really. They were so – sticky.

"It's just, um," Kick said while Kendall sat there staring at him, waiting for him to come up with the words. "Well, before me and you did that whole kissing thing, we couldn't stand each other. And afterward, when the, uh, tension was gone, we were actually friends. Do you think the opposite could happen? Like, if I was friends with someone – really good friends – and I did the kissing thing, could that, like. Make us hate each other if it ended?"

Kendall stared for a moment, and when she smiled, Kick knew he was screwed. It was kind of like watching a cement sidewalk rapidly approach his face.

"Well, well," Kendall said. She picked up her egg salad sandwich with both hands. "You finally started making out with Gunther, did you?"

"Shh!" Kick gritted his teeth and glared at her, looking around to make sure no one had heard. "Don't – just – keep it down!"

"So you don't deny it?" Kendall took a bite of the sandwich, looking so devilishly pleased by this information that Kick remembered what it was like to hate her as a kid. "But it's a secret, for some reason?"

"For some reason?" Kick scoffed. "I'm not even sure I'm okay with this yet. It's so – weird."

"Weird like you and me were weird?"

"No." Kick was already bright red, and he felt himself flush more deeply. He tugged at his collar and stared down at his spaghetti. With his stomach twisted up like this, the noodles looked about as appetizing as a pile of bloody guts. "It's – the other kind of weird."

"The other kind of weird?"

"Like, when you're upside down," Kick said. "And you're disoriented, in free fall, and there's this moment when you're not sure if you're going to land your jump, and everything slows down, and your stomach drops, but then you come out of the flip and you can see the ground again, and you know you're going to make it, and knowing it feels even better than that moment when the wheels hit the ramp, and the crowd – goes wild –" He let this die off in a mumble, because Kendall's eyes were getting wide again.

"Whoa," Kendall said. "I never – whoa."

"Never what?" Kick asked, glaring at her, daring her to make fun of him.

"I never thought I'd see little Kick Buttowski get all sappy about love."

"Don't call me little! And who said anything about love? This is – it's. Kissing." Sometimes it was more than that, too, but he wasn't about to discuss that with her. "So, just. Give me some advice here, alright? I don't want to mess this up."

"Oh, Kick." Kendall put her sandwich down and pressed a hand over her heart, smiling in a way that made him grimace in response. "Don't worry. It's Gunther. You can't mess that up. He loves you more than anything, no matter what."

"Don't say that." Kick's ears got hot, then the back of his neck.

"Why not?" Kendall narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't you want him to love you?"

"That's the problem," Kick said, hitting the table with his fist. "This Gunther – loving me – business, it's nothing new. We always had this great friendship, we'd do anything for each other, whatever, it was no big deal. And then – now – the kissing. Like, if I had to give up the kissing to keep the other stuff, I would." He actually wasn't sure about that, which was the problem. He was okay with being addicted to speed, danger, and the adulation of a roaring crowd. This kissing Gunther stuff was more dizzying than any of that, and lately he seemed to need it just as badly. It was complicating his self-image.

"You're approaching this from the wrong angle," Kendall said, holding up both hands. "You and Gunther were inevitable. Like, whatever you two were going to be? You're already that thing. So just go with it and don't worry. Over-thinking this is only going to make you trip up."

"So you admit that I could trip!" Tripping, crashing, face planting – he had never been afraid of any of that, had accepted that it happened to every daredevil maybe thirty percent of the time, but he'd never been okay with the crash landings that involved Gunther taking damage, too.

"See, that's over-thinking," Kendall said dryly. "Something that I didn't even think you were capable of, frankly. Remember when you 'broke up' with me?"

"Uh, no?"

"Exactly! You just stopped showing up after school. And that pissed me off for awhile, but it was also kind of a relief, because we both knew it wasn't working, and I didn't really want some big confrontation. So don't turn this into a big ceremony. I shouldn't need to tell you of all people to just do it, but, Kick. Just do it."

"Fine," Kick said, embarrassed. He stood from the table, his lunch mostly uneaten. "And it should go without saying, but you'd better not tell anybody about this. Not even Hampton."

"Like Hammy cares about high school drama," Kendall said with a wave of her hand. "But seriously, Kick, I'm happy for you. This is an important step toward your overdue self-actualization."

"Ugh," Kick said, pretending to gag. "Alright. I'm going."

Kendall's sage advice didn't really make him feel better. It just proved that she didn't get it. Nobody did. Gunther wasn't some forgone conclusion. Kick waited for him at his locker after his last class, as usual, feeling tense. As soon as he saw Gunther he felt better, and he grinned as he watched Gunther barrel through the halls with his Viking-esque presence, smiling at everyone and clapping passing football teammates on the shoulders, making the smaller ones stumble. Gunther was an offensive tackle for the Mellowbrook High Monarchs. His team nickname was Thor.

"Hey, how was your day?" Gunther asked as soon as he saw Kick, immediately switching into ignoring-everyone-else mode.

"It was okay," Kick said. "I think I flunked a vocab test."

"Kick! Vocab? But we made flashcards!"

"Yeah, well," Kick said, mumbling, not willing to remind Gunther, in present company, that their vocab studying session had ended with a collection of flashcards that were crushed after being scattered across Kick's bed and made out upon.

"You'll do better on the next one," Gunther said, his cheeks coloring a bit as he seemed to recall how that particular study session played out. "Hey, guess what?" he asked, beaming again.

"What?"

"I signed us up for an after school club!"

"Gunther." Kick rolled his eyes and groaned, letting his head fall back. "You know I hate –"

"I know, I know! You want to leave school as early as possible. But you need something extracurricular on your transcripts if you want to get into college, and skateboarding through the mall isn't going to count. Plus, this is important!"

"Important?" As far as Kick was concerned, skateboarding through the mall was damned important, especially when said skateboarding involved record-breaking escalator-related stunts, and who said he wanted to go to college, anyway?

"Check it out!" Gunther said, and he pulled a neon pink flyer from the back pocket of his jeans. "It's a Gay Straight Alliance!" Gunther said before Kick could read it, his voice booming down the hall like he was doing the aria in a freaking opera.

"Gunther!" Kick said, hissing and stuffing the flyer down the front of his shirt. "Ah – what – why –"

"Don't get all flustered," Gunther said, doing that hand flick thing that had always made Kick suspect he'd eventually be a part of something neon pink. "It's no big deal, just some kids sitting around talking about what it's like to be gay and what we can do in the community to promote tolerance. Doesn't that sound great?"

Kick stared at Gunther, feeling like he'd just been presented with a bucket full of mud and told that it was a birthday cake. He objected, first and foremost, to talking. It was one of his least favorite things to do, especially when time was specifically set aside for said activity. Furthermore, this gay thing. Maybe he wanted to kiss Gunther, and roll around atop vocabulary flashcards with him, and claim Gunther's chest as his permanent pillow, no take backs, but that word. It didn't work on him, somehow.

"Look," Kick said, glancing around to make sure no one was staring. "Can we talk about this on the walk home?"

"What's there to talk about?" Gunther asked, looking crestfallen. Crestfallen Gunther was Kick's least favorite thing to have in his immediate field of vision, even worse than a cement sidewalk rushing toward his face. "I thought you'd be into this. I mean. You're – we're –"

"Let's not make this into some sort of – ceremony," Kick said, flushed and flustered, pulling Gunther away from the lockers. "I mean. Can't we just, uh. Do it? And not, like. Accessorize?"

"Accessorize?" Gunther frowned, but he let Kick continue to pull him toward the doors they always excited through before their walk home. "Kick, I'm not asking you to wear a hair bow. This is important! This is who we are."

"Gunther, just – chill," Kick said, boiling inside his clothes now, ready to get Gunther away from the public arena and into a place where he could say spine-crushingly humiliating things and only Kick would hear them. Under those circumstances, Gunther's enthusiasm for – Alliances and such – was charming. Elsewhere, it felt like he was taking Kick's clothes off one article at a time and asking him what the big deal was when he ended up naked in the middle of school.

"Chill?" Gunther said as Kick pulled him out into the cool fall afternoon, everything outside reeking of dead leaves and wax vampire teeth, the way it always did in Mellowbrook before Halloween. "I don't think I'm the one who needs to 'chill,' Kick. I think you do."

"Fine, I'll chill," Kick said. He had no plans to actually do so, but the making out with Gunther hour was approaching, and he didn't want to piss Gunther off and forfeit what was lately his favorite part of the day. Since his last arrest, his parents had made daredevil pursuits very difficult to pull off, and he had to pick his battles on that front, which meant that, most afternoons, the most exciting activities available were those that took place in his bedroom, with Gunther, music playing just loud enough to conceal Gunther's various vocalizations and quietly enough to keep his parents from complaining.

"What, are you ashamed or something?" Gunther asked, staring straight ahead as he asked this, scowling. "Of me?"

"God, Gunther, no!" Kick tugged on his arm. "That's not it and you know it." They were passing the football stadium, but it was empty. Gunther would have practice tomorrow and a game on Friday. Kick always attended the games, but just to be nice. He found football about as exciting as dirt bike competitions that had rules and scorekeepers. He'd rather just ride a dirt bike down Widowmaker's Peak and get congratulated for surviving, and if football could be interpreted on that level of awesome he would be all for it, but football was the most rule-ridden enterprise there was, the action only lasting twenty seconds before some official started blowing a whistle.

"Do I know that, Kick?" Gunther asked after some angry silence. "Do I? I heard you ate lunch with Kendall today."

"Heard? From who?"

"Never mind who. Are you, I mean, do you –"

"I was asking her for advice on you," Kick said, slapping his hand over his face, thoroughly humiliated. Gunther stopped walking and stared at him.

"Advice? What, on how to dump me?"

"Dump you – Gunther! No! I wanted advice on, ah. I don't know. On, on –" He didn't know how to articulate any of his fears without turning this afternoon into an even bigger travesty, so he bit his lip and steeled himself. "I was asking about, uh. Sex."

"Sex?" Gunther boggled at him, and the red that crept onto his cheeks came slowly. "Oh."

"Yeah, so." Kick started walking again, hoping that Gunther wouldn't inquire further.

"What's Kendall going to tell you about sex?" Gunther asked, following him. "Like she's some sort of expert or something?"

"Well, her boyfriend is in college," Kick said. "Look, can we just drop it? Since when do you care if I talk to Kendall? You know we're friends. She's your friend, too."

"Not really," Gunther said. "And you guys – you and her, you used to –"

"Don't remind me," Kick said. "Trust me, you've got no reason to be jealous of her."

"Jealous?" Gunther scoffed dramatically. "Me, jealous? Of that beanpole? No, yeah, I don't think so."

He was in a bad mood after that, and Kick was, too. They didn't talk for most of the walk home, and Kick's stomach twisted up uncomfortably as he realized that it was already happening. Things between him and Gunther were changing because of this other thing, the kissing thing.

Brianna was in the kitchen when they arrived at Kick's house, and Kick was not happy to see her. Ever since she saw him kissing Gunther, Brianna gave Kick obnoxiously knowing smiles, and especially if he and Gunther were together. Today was no exception, and Kick did his best to ignore her as he went to the fridge for the root beer.

"Want some?" he asked Gunther, and he was grateful when Gunther nodded and accepted a glass. At least Gunther wasn't completely ignoring Kick, even if he was annoyed. Kick sighed as he poured soda, realizing that he was going to have to go to that neon pink meeting or risk having Gunther be mad at him for longer than the duration of a walk home from school.

"So, what are you guys doing this afternoon?" Brianna asked, leaning on the counter. She was drinking one of her disgusting vegetable smoothies. It was green and sludgy, sliming down the side of her glass after she took a sip. "Studying?" She pronounced the word like it was dirty.

"Yep," Gunther said. Kick just narrowed his eyes at Brianna in warning. "We've got a big history test coming up."

"Well, best of luck," Brianna said as Kick pulled Gunther toward the second floor stairs. "Have fun."

Kick brought Gunther up to his room, shut and locked the door, and turned on the radio. He was very glad that Brad wasn't living at home, because his teasing would be about ten thousand times more obnoxious than Brianna's. Kick sat down on his bed, feeling glum as he considered the prospect that, if this worked out, Brad would know about him and Gunther eventually, and would never stop laughing.

"What's wrong, Kick?" Gunther asked, soft and sympathetic again as he sat down beside Kick and put an arm around him. "Are you sad because we can't do stunts after school anymore?"

"Yeah," Kick said. "I mean – sort of." He looked up at Gunther and studied his face, taking stock of all the things that he liked about it: Gunther's fat lips, his little freckles, dark blond eyelashes, blue eyes, and the way he looked at Kick like this, like it was killing him that he couldn't throw himself over every muddy puddle that Kick had to walk through.

"I'm sorry I tried to pressure you about that," Gunther said when Kick pulled the crumpled neon pink flyer out of his shirt. "It's just – I thought. I don't know. Going to those meetings would make it real."

"This doesn't feel real to you?" Kick asked, pretending to be surprised. It was surreal for him, too, until they were alone together like this.

"I don't know what to think," Gunther said, looking like he might cry. "Sometimes I'm afraid you're only doing this because you're bored. Like I'm some kind of indoor Widowmaker's Peak."

"Gunther, that's ridiculous," Kick said, though it wasn't. He'd wondered that himself, but Gunther didn't need to know that. Kick kissed him, just on the cheek, because he had to work his way back to feeling sure about this every time they picked up where they'd left off.

"Aren't you scared, though?" Gunther asked. "I mean, I know you're not scared of anything, but –"

"You said it." Kick took hold of Gunther's face, smoothing his thumbs over his cheeks. "I'm not scared of anything."

He didn't like lying to Gunther, but he did want him to feel better, so he kissed him on the lips this time. Kick didn't want to talk about how scared he was, didn't want to over-think, didn't want to think at all, and when Gunther's tongue slid against his he was certain that Kendall was right: he should just do it. He clambered into Gunther's lap, let Gunther pull him closer, and sighed as he looped his arms around Gunther's neck, pushing both hands into Gunther's hair.

Eventually he was airborne, no going back, barely in control of where his hands went, but it didn't matter. Gunther was into it now, too, his hands closing around Kick's thighs while Kick's mouth trailed from Gunther's lips and down to his neck. It made Kick do this sort of growling thing, the way Gunther's skin smelled right there, between his jaw and his throat, where Gunther's pulse hammered against Kick's lips like a thing that he could capture between his teeth and hold on his tongue.

Tick tick tick and Kick was getting closer to the ground now, closer to crashing, but he didn't care, he liked this sort of crash, and anyway, Gunther always caught him.

"Kick," Gunther breathed into his ear when the crash landing was imminent, and the way he said Kick's name turned it into some other word, dirty but not really a curse, a kind of compliment wrapped in a dare. Kick was saying things, too, or growling them, anyway, his mouth open against Gunther's neck.

"Can I –"

"Yeah, that's –"

"Shit, guh, yeah –"

"Kehh- Kick—"

Kick crashed hard and crumpled, panting against Gunther, splayed out on top of him. Gunther was on his back now, his breath like an earthquake and his hands squeezed around Kick's ass so possessively that it would be hilarious if it wasn't rapidly becoming embarrassing, how much Kick had liked that two seconds ago. Kick squirmed and Gunther moaned, his hands traveling obediently upward, one sliding into Kick's hair and the other resting heavily at the small of his back. Kick felt like he could fall asleep, and sometimes he did, on top of Gunther like this, half-dressed and sweaty, birds twittering in that bush outside his window. Sometimes he couldn't believe he'd ever had a favorite thing that wasn't this.

"Dang," Gunther said, because for some reason he always felt like he needed to commentate on this, like it was a stunt he'd just helped to coordinate. "That was a good one."

"Mmph."

"Are you going to sleep, Kick?" Gunther asked, and he sounded so enamored with the fact that Kick might, as if it was cute or something, that Kick made himself sit up, one of his eyes still half-closed from being pressed so snugly to Gunther's shirt.

"I'm awake," he said, mumbling, and Gunther laughed.

"What?" Kick said, adjusting the helmet.

"Nothing. You just look –"

"Don't say it!"

"I wasn't gonna! Um, you look –" Gunther struggled to come up with a word other than 'cute.' So Kick wasn't the only one with a vocabulary deficiency. "Sleepy," Gunther said. "You look a little sleepy."

"Babies get sleepy, Gunther," Kick said, climbing off of him. "Men get tired. I'm a little tired, but. Hey. We should study."

"Sure thing, pal." Gunther sat up, readjusted his shirt, and kissed Kick on the nose. "I'll get the flashcards."

"Not flashcards again."

"What've you got against flashcards?" Gunther was distracted already, chewing on Kick's ear.

"Nothing, I just kept finding them in my sheets after – last time. Those things are sharp."

"Aw, Kick."

"What?"

"Nothing, just, you getting poked by sharp flashcards in the middle of the night. That's so – not cute." Gunther pulled back to grin at him. "Totally not cute."

Kick tried to remain petulant as they settled in to study the French Revolution, but mostly he just fell asleep, inadvertently curling against Gunther in the process. He woke up with Gunther's arm around him, and he was going to sit up, or snarl manfully, or something, but Gunther's arm fit along the length of Kick's back with such uncanny perfection, despite or maybe because of their size difference, so he closed his eyes and slept a little more.

"Hey, c'mon," Gunther whispered when Kick opened his eyes and scowled at Gunther for having the nerve to gently wake him. It had gotten dark outside. "Your mom's calling you for dinner."

"Oh – shit!" Kick catapulted away from Gunther, stumbling across the floor and smacking against the far wall, disoriented as his eyes swept the room for any sign of his mother. Gunther sat up slowly, looking glum.

"I didn't mean she was at the door right now," Gunther said. "Geez, Kick. You really – don't want them to know about us?"

"Of course not!" Kick said, grabbing his helmet with both hands, as if some monstrous wind had come to blow it away. "Gunther, God. I don't want them knowing my – business. It's embarrassing."

"See." Gunther sighed and stood, examining the cover of his history book. "I knew I embarrassed you. Maybe I always have, even as your friend –"

"Gunther, stop talking crazy," Kick said. "Just because I don't want to skip around holding your hand in front of my parents or go to some stupid feelings-sharing meeting –"

"It's not a feelings-sharing meeting!" Gunther said. "It's just a place where people can feel okay with being – different. But I'm starting to think you're not okay with it at all."

"The only thing I'm not okay with is self examination," Kick said, jabbing his palm with his finger the way his father did when he was angry and making an important point about caution. "If you want to analyze yourself and everything you're going through with a bunch of other navel gazers, that's fine, but you're not dragging me there. I've got better things to do."

"Fine, Kick, fine." Gunther's voice was thick with tears as he packed up his book bag.

"Gunther, no, don't –" Kick went to Gunther and tried to get his arms around his shoulders, but Gunther batted him away easily. Kick drifted backward, gnat-like.

"No, it's good," Gunther said. He hid his face from Kick, sniffling. "Now I know how you really feel."

"You couldn't possibly have expected me to go to that meeting," Kick said. "And it's not 'cause I'm ashamed of myself, or you, or any of this." Actually, it was that, sort of, a little. "It's because I don't do meetings, Gunther, I don't do afterschool clubs, and I don't do –"

"Boyfriends," Gunther said, turning to glare at him. "Yeah, I get it."

"Boyf – wha? What did you think, I was going to take you to prom?"

That sent Gunther running, and when Kick was left to listen to the echo of his words bouncing around his room like razor sharp ninja stars, he could hardly blame him.