Upon arrival home that day, Sherwin's mother had been waiting patiently in the living room, a plastic carrier bag between her legs and a knowing smirk across her face.

It was unsettling, seeing her like that. Normally, their afterschool greetings were as simple as a hug and a hot plate of food. Plastic carrier bags and knowing smirks constituted a special occasion – and what special occasion was this? As far as he was aware, his birthday wasn't for another two months. Could he really have been in that pocket of spacetime for so long?

She beckoned him over, an excited gleam flashing in her eyes. Whatever was in the carrier bag looked fairly bulky, but its shape changed every time she adjusted the bag. When at last she revealed the contents, Sherwin found it hard to see why she was so excited.

A beige shirt and a fresh pair of jeans weren't really much of anything. Nevertheless, he accepted it gratefully and thanked her with a hug and a peck on the cheek.

He was about to move into the kitchen to fetch himself some food when she pulled him back. She brandished two slips of paper at him – tickets?

Bewildered, he took them from her outstretched hand and read them carefully.

Roseberry Showcase Cinemas, Park Avenue

Laserman IV

PG-13

Admission: Adults (0), Minors (2)

Screen: 3

Seats: A-13, A-14

He swallowed, stunned.

He was staring at the cinema tickets in disbelief when his mother embraced him, kissing his forehead. She ruffled his hair again, bidding him away when she could see the contemplation on his face – for this motherly act, the only repayment she expected was that Sherwin would come home happier than when he left.

Eight o'clock.

Three hours.

That was how long Sherwin had to shower, eat dinner, get dressed, and quell the hammering of his heart; tonight's date would likely go off without a hitch if one small detail could be worked out – how would Johnathan know to be ready?

Seven o'clock ticked over, and still that question had not been answered. Sherwin's mother pottered about the living room while he sat at his desk in his room, wearing the brand new beige shirt and jeans. His mother had brought him a chipped bottle of cologne half an hour earlier, but instead of spraying it over himself he had placed it on his desk and let it sit there. The problem wasn't that it smelled awful; the problem was that it was filled with bittersweet memories. The two years since his father had last worn it felt like a forever ago – it was almost empty, only a few sprays at most remaining. Using them up felt like the gravest disrespect.

He had been raised to be better than disrespecting the dead.

He felt a shadow creep over his quivering back like the tired hands of days gone by. Cradling his head, he let the hot tears trickle down his cheeks and onto the bottle cap. His mother would have to wait until this moment passed, as he knew she always did.

Broaching the topic of his father's death gave him stomach cramps and the undying need to escape to his own little slice of reality. The truth of it was, Sherwin's father had been a man drowning in the cement of his own mind – a man tortured by the sins of an era left far behind but unforgotten – never forgotten. And as the worst memories have that nasty habit of doing, they would resurface just as one course of treatment was finally starting to work – just as the cement began to loosen, those memories would seal the cracks once more. The final time this happened, it became clear that there would be no escape – unless he made the escape route himself.

Sherwin cut his thoughts at that, for fear of being an emotional wreck during the date.

Grabbing a tissue from the box beside him, he wiped his eyes and sniffled, smiling through the sadness at the bottle of cologne. His father had always told him that the way to a woman's heart was through her nose. Was there any reason that logic couldn't apply to a man – a boy?

That was when he noticed a peculiar scent titillating his nostrils. Not the usual floral perfume that his mother regular wore – but a masculine cinnamon that reminded him of apple pie. A familiar figure was silhouetted on his bedroom wall, over his head. Tall and slender, and just that little bit lean.

It was the shape of the hair he recognised first.

He leapt up from his chair and wheeled on the spot.

Johnathan leaned against the door frame, clad in a smart, blue shirt and jeans, his expression soft. The glimmer in his eyes as the dull ceiling light cut across his face bundled Sherwin's wounded heart into bandages woven by love.

For the first time, Sherwin possessed the unwavering courage to pace across the room and throw his arms around Johnathan. He planted a light kiss to his cheek and even rubbed their noses together, grinning.

Was this the kind of affection spoken of only in fairy tales?

Quarter-past-seven.

There was still enough time to sit around, at least for a little while.

They moved over to Sherwin's single bed and sat down.

Over the past two days, Johnathan had had an unprecedented impact on Sherwin. He was now much less anxious, and even made a new friend at school in the form of Ellie – all thanks to this handsome young man sitting next to him.

He laid back on the bed, facing the ceiling.

Johnathan stroked a gentle hand on his leg and leaned over him, aligning their faces.

There was something behind those amber eyes – Sherwin's eyes. Tragedy, and just a hint of something purer. He thought he might have known what that could be, but didn't want to make what could potentially be an inaccurate – and therefore disastrous – assumption.

So, he moved to Sherwin's side, embracing him from there and nuzzling into his neck. Sliding his left arm under Sherwin's back, he hadn't expected him to be so light – he couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds. There was a great deal endearing about that; he pulled Sherwin closer and kissed his cheek, revelling in this new and exhilarating intimacy.

Shirley wriggled out from under Sherwin's shirt, eyes widening at the sight of these two boys cuddling so closely.

They widened further still as Joanne appeared, climbing over Sherwin's forearm. She wore the same daft beam as Shirley, except hers was aimed at the blue haze radiating from Johnathan's chest.

For once, it wasn't Sherwin who started crying.

Though he attempted to hide his tears, Johnathan knew that Sherwin was far too close to not notice the damp patches on his shirt sleeve.

Sherwin shuffled under Johnathan's arm, pushing his back against his stomach in the hope that he would know what to do. When said arm drew itself over and in front of him, he inhaled deeply – inhaled Johnathan's affection, his scent – thrived on it.

High-pitched humming echoed up the staircase, followed by the quiet, rhythmic poofing of a pair of fluffy slippers marching across the landing. Sherwin's mother appeared in the doorway, eyes twinkling immediately upon seeing the two boys. She motioned to the clock on the wall.

Thirty minutes until the film started: exactly the amount of time it would take to walk to the cinema.

Sherwin still needed to know how Johnathan knew about the date, but there wasn't the time to dwell on it.

Half-past-seven was far too early for this area of town to be so quiet. Not even the cicadas were present, their missing chirps a stark omission amidst the moon's effulgent darkness. Eerie shadows stretched over the roads and pavements like withered fingers, as Sherwin and Johnathan wandered, hand-in-hand, through the network of side streets and back alleys.

They were heading in the direction of the playground from yesterday.

Johnathan had been to the cinema before, it seemed, as he paid little heed to any signs and street names during their walk.

He took a phone out of his pocket and quickly checked the time. Twenty-to-eight. He was confident that he and Sherwin could arrive in ten minutes. Which left ten more minutes for… what, exactly?

Sherwin glanced at him, curious. Using his phone during the film would be extremely rude, so Johnathan powered it down after showing Sherwin the time.

With extra time to spare, they could afford to slow their pace a bit. This had the very fortunate side effect of enabling more hand-holding, more nose-nuzzling, and more sideways glances.

Sherwin wasn't quite sure what he was expecting: neon signs pierced the night, casting away all shades of darkness as Sherwin and Johnathan turned onto Park Avenue. As bright as it was, the cinema appeared fairly underwhelming. Moss had formed up from the ground and creeped through the damp masonry like a spider's web. Its windows were obscured by internal condensation, and the attendant at the ticket booth carried an air of utter apathy.

There wasn't even a concessions stand.

Johnathan grimaced at Sherwin. Maybe this wasn't what he was expecting, either.

Their hands still intertwined, they gave their tickets to the attendant, who punched them through without paying a lick of attention. He merely thumbed to his right, eyes glassy:

Scre_ns 1-4 à

Las_r_an IV

NO_ SH_WI_G

Askance, Johnathan and Sherwin entered the cinema.

The instant the door closed behind them, their universe plunged into nothingness. It was a small relief when the number three stuttered to life ahead of them. That relief was transient; it coughed out a shower of sparks seconds later and died completely.

But they knew where they needed to head now, and that was the important thing.

Together, they found their seat at the back of the vacant room. Perhaps there was a good reason they were the only people at the cinema – this cinema - on a Friday night.

Sherwin briefly considered leaving with Johnathan and later reimbursing his mother for the tickets out of the savings from his allowance, but worried that that could be ungrateful. He'd stick it out for now, and pray that the film would be good enough to outweigh the terrible surroundings.

The chances of that happening were fairly slim; an awful stench – the stench of something unspeakable – rose out of the seats in front of them like a haunting.

Blazing light burst onto the cinema screen, which promptly collapsed from the top-right corner as a small tear exploded into a gash. The sound it made reminded Sherwin of a balloon popping next to his ear: he and Johnathan practically hit the ceiling.

The ticket attendant stumbled into the room with a fire extinguisher, apparently moving faster than his own feet could carry him.

There was no fire.

When the attendant noticed them staring at him, he ushered them out of the room and slid a bolt into place. He forcibly took Johnathan's hand and shoved a fistful of bank notes into it. He was engulfed in darkness as he headed for a fire exit down the corridor.

Sherwin and Johnathan blinked at one another.

Conflicting emotions churned in Sherwin's stomach. On one hand, the screen malfunction had been a welcome reprieve from that awful place. On the other hand, it meant that he and Johnathan were without an activity for their date.

Johnathan was lost in thought beside him, their hands still knitted together. Was he thinking of taking Sherwin to the playground again?

Shadow shifted over the city, clawing back the glow of the moon as cloud descended. Those fireflies dancing about the houses in the distance appeared brighter now, emitting a low hum that followed Sherwin and Johnathan as they dawdled along the path back to Sherwin's house. What a wasted night.

Sherwin watched his feet as his walked, unable to think of much else to occupy his time aside from gazing at Johnathan some more.

He knew what could possibly make up for the lack of a proper date, but his insides squirmed at the thought. And that was before he considered the distinct possibility that his mother's hospitality towards Johnathan may cut itself short of that.

Blushing had become such a default state of being for Sherwin that he hadn't noticed the burning until Johnathan graced his cheek with a tender hand, grabbing his attention.

In the still night air, they hung.

Sherwin's lips were parted as his eyes traced that lithe frame, brilliant blue eyes – those thin lips opened up, and Johnathan grew closer. Sherwin licked his lips, his chest aflutter. He pressed himself into Johnathan's embrace and hugged him tightly, his face meeting Johnathan's.

Something in the way Johnathan held Sherwin felt familiar, yet different. There was a desperation enveloped in it. Sherwin had experienced this before – understood it – lived it.

He drew away from Johnathan, whose lips quirked at the corners. It was all too easy to get lost in that expression. Even easier to lose all sense of self in the gesture he was making with one hand.

A half-heart.

A wholly new emotion struck Sherwin like the birth of star. He quaked in place, extending a hand to Johnathan with little thought. Curling his fingers into a half-heart of his own, he aligned it with Johnathan's.

In that instance of unity, Shirley and Joanne burst forth. They linked their tiny arms and hovered in a wide circle above their heads, a pink-and-blue halo radiant in the night.

The clock ticked nine-thirty when Sherwin and Johnathan arrived at Sherwin's doorstep. Unlike the other times before, Shirley plain refused to settle back into Sherwin's chest. It appeared Joanne was just as stubborn as her; in spite of Johnathan's valiant attempts at tucking her safely away under his shirt, she exerted enormous strength in resisting. Both hearts danced around the two boys, and Shirley was brave enough to take Joanne by the hand and lead her over the threshold.

Sherwin flushed, casting an uncomfortable glance at Johnathan. He made a bold movement, leading Johnathan after their hearts. The front door clicked shut behind them.

In a corner of the living room, situated to the left of the hallway, a subtle glow illuminated a figure dozing in an armchair. It moved when Sherwin took the first step up to his bedroom; how convenient that this old house would choose now to announce its age by creaking.

Seconds stretched into years. Sherwin's mother was still fast asleep in there, and needed to stay that way.

He took Johnathan by the hand and tilted his head towards his bedroom. This night would be one to remember, for all the right reasons, for years to come.

Sherwin peeled back his duvet and climbed inside, clad in a set of olive pyjamas.

A sleeping bag had already been laid out before he got home – his mother knew his heart better than even he did. He admitted privately to himself that its presence was something of a dampener.

Johnathan emerged from the bathroom across the hall, flicking the light off as he tiptoed over the carpet and entered Sherwin's room. He allowed the door to swing shut behind him, but it wouldn't budge when he tried forcing it the last inch into the frame. Confused, he considered ramming it until Sherwin's frail hands grabbed his bicep, an urgent finger placed over his lips.

Joanne and Shirley were nestled together at the head of the sleeping bag, their eyes already shut. The small lump rose and fell as their breathing became shallow and they drifted off together.

That left no room for Johnathan.

Anywhere.

Apart from the bed.

With Sherwin.

Gulp.

They'd huddled together just a couple of hours ago and it had been perfect. So why the hesitation?

Even in the shade of the wall behind him, Sherwin's rosy cheeks and amber eyes shone like beacons. And Johnathan, who until now had always fought his heart and succeeded, was resigned to perching on the edge of the bed, focussing intently on the threadbare, ruby carpet. Things were moving so fast – it had swept his feet out from under him – Sherwin had swept his feet out from under him – and now here he was, about to spend his first night with the boy who, until thirty-six hours ago, had been a two-month-old crush.

Sherwin gnawed on his lower lip, unsure about Johnathan's quietness. In all that had happened since yesterday, now was the most vulnerable he had seen him.

He offered him an out – Johnathan's clothes were folded-up and laid neatly on the desk, his phone silent beside them. Sherwin gestured towards them.

A nervous lump slicked down Johnathan's throat and caught just above his lungs. He gave Sherwin a once-over, considering his options. This was a night he only ever dreamed of – and that was only because his dreams didn't ask his permission.

No.

This awkwardness needed to come to an end if he and Sherwin were to pursue anything worthwhile.

It had begun with a shy smile cast fleetingly over the heads of an oblivious cohort.

There was no reason why tonight shouldn't happen. It was only one night, after all, and Johnathan knew that there would be nothing more than two intimate bodies in that bed, and that the only movements would be of hugging – and perhaps a kiss or two.

If he was being honest with himself, his hesitation stemmed more from the occasional, fleeting thrills that electrified his body when around Sherwin. He had heard of hormones before and the effects they could have on a teenage boy, but it had never crossed his mind that he would be affected around Sherwin – or, at least, definitely not this soon. And confining himself to such a small space with Sherwin for an entire night? Well, that was a disaster waiting to happen… wasn't it?

Sharp agony shot through his heart when he chanced a glance over at Sherwin, whose expression had fallen into a limp reflection of the fear he showed yesterday, when Johnathan had pieced his heart together.

Seeing that expression again ignited determination at his core: it engulfed him and spread like wildfire from there, washing over his chest – his limbs – his fingers and toes.

Some base instinct consumed him, unlike any other need or desire he had ever known – fierce and calm and ugly and beautiful and raging and yet soothing and it swirled in his stomach like a sickening knot – it rushed up through his body – all sense scattered in every direction –– his lungs sang, his brain rang, the blood rushing in his ears building up to a grand crescendo.

And in a raw, carnal exposure:

"I love you!"