The smell of fresh pancakes rouses me a bit from my sleep, beckoning me to slowly open my eyes and take in the morning sunlight. Pops must be making breakfast. Though, a few seconds later, it's the chocolate chip scent that really wakes me up. Pops wasn't just making pancakes- he was making chocolate chip pancakes.

Glancing over at the unset alarm clock on my nightstand, I see that it's 8:40am. Normally at this time Mom would be shaking me awake and reminding me that I have schoolwork to complete, but I remember quickly that it's summer vacation, and I get that warm, fuzzy, "I don't have anything I have to do today" feeling.

Kicking off my comforter, I slide off my bed and into my bedside slippers. Realizing I'm wearing nothing but my boxers, but being too lazy to change into any actual clothing, I swing my comforter over my shoulders, wrapping it around in a makeshift cloak.

My parents were always early risers- it's a fisherman's habit. I've been better about it in the past, though as I got older, my circadian rhythm kinda threw itself off a cliff. I still mourn losing it sometimes.

"Morning sunshine- sleep well?" Mom greets me as I walk into the den, a steaming cup of tea in her hands.

"Like… a baby." I'm interrupted by a giant yawn and I try my best to stay awake as I lean forward at one of the island stools. As my drowsy eyes adjust, I see Pops focused on a large skillet dotted with perfectly browned pancakes.

You know what I said about his burgers? If those could put him on the map, his breakfasts would make aliens come down from space just to put us on their maps cause his cooking is that damn good. His chocolate chip pancakes especially.,

The island is already set with plates of sausage, eggs, and fresh fruit. I grab a strawberry and gnaw impatiently as I wait for Pops to put down the platter of pancakes, which he does a minute later, the delicious steam rising up and into my nose, perking me up better than any cup of coffee.

Despite my appetite, I wait for Pops to sit down and grab his food before I hungrily portion myself out a few pancakes, some sausage, more strawberries, and to top it all off- Pop's homemade black cherry syrup that he brought from back home.

Pops takes his plate to sit next to Mom, and she places her hand on his as she sips her tea. "Thank you for breakfast, hon."

"'Course dear- anytime," he answers with a flustered smile.

Eventually, mom finishes her tea, and she and Pops head out to the patio to eat. I turn to follow, but my phone starts buzzing on the counter. I flip it over to see Cherry calling me on facetime.

I prop my phone up against the syrup bottle and accept the call. In an instant, I see Cherry sitting on her couch with Mitzy, her girlfriend, acting as a backboard for Cherry to lean on. Mitzy looks up from something she's sewing to wave at me, and Cherry shouts her greeting.

"Evening, Cee!"

"It's 9 in the morning, Cher…" I grumble.

Mitzy chuckles. "Timezones- what a concept. If only someone had told you now wouldn't be a very good time to call."

"Hey!" Cherry shouts with no argument, playfully nudging her girlfriend, "Sorry CJ. Did I wake you up?"

I shake my head drowsily. "Nah, I woke up when I smelled Pops was making breakfast. I slept, like, 10 hours last night dude. It was great."

"Fuck yeah for good sleep!" Cherry pumps a fist in the air. "OH! By the way, since you called my loyalty to Mitzy in question last night, I will have you know that I told her about Flick, and she also said she thought he sounded nice! So there!"

I roll my eyes lightheartedly. "Well, who am I to question the unbounded wisdom of the lesbians?"

Mitzi lifts a needle my way as if to say "cheers to that".

"I was thinking of either hanging out with him or Pascal today- not sure which one though. I guess it depends on how much of a mood I am in to fish today."

"So Pascal it is then?" Mitzy asked, looking up from her fabric, "I don't think you've ever not been in the mood to fish."

"What can I say? Women want me. Fish fear me."

Cherry snorts. "Yeah I'm sure both of those things are very true, Justin Beaver."

I choke on a sausage (and no I won't admit that out loud when Cherry is within earshot) and start laughing again. "What, did you just call to bully me?"

Now Cherry shifts up in her seat, sticking her hands in her pockets. "Actually, Mitzi wanted to call- not at 9 in the morning on summer vacation- but she wanted to say hi! She hasn't seen you in a while."

Mitzi laughs awkwardly and rubs the back of her neck.

"Aww, Mitzi-i-i-i," I gush, "next time I see you- you owe me a hug, aight?"

"Only if I get to be involved!" Cherry interrupts, throwing an arm around Mitzi, who gives her a look somewhere between love and annoyance, "what? CJ gives good hugs no way am I missing out on that!"

"Damn straight I do!"

"Damn gay you do!"

Not sure how to respond to that, I mimic Mitzi's "cheers" movement with a fork full of pancake before shoving my face with another mouthful.

"I also called cause I wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out later? Maybe play some video games or something- you have your playstation there with you?" Cherry sits up, leaning in closer to the camera.

Trying to remember the day before... my memory does say that I unpacked my PS4, but I'm not exactly sure where. Oddly enough, the only thing I'm sure of is that I definitely didn't put it by the TV.

"Yeah sure! I just gotta… find it somehow. I dunno where I left it."

Mitzi tsks. "Leave it to you, CJ. You've only been there for a day, haven't you?"

"Hey! I'm diagnosed with himbo from multiple experts. I forget shit sometimes."

Mitzi lets out a snrk and covers her mouth. "I remember Cherry told me about that- once again, the lesbians agree."

"How honored I am to have the approval of the lesbian counsel," I joke, wiping up the last of the syrup with my finger and popping it into my mouth.

I've always felt more comfortable around lesbians. I guess it's always because everyone I know would always see me being friends with a girl and start pestering me and asking if we're dating. You never have that with an out and proud lesbian like Mitzi- or Cherry sortof- Cherry's bisexual, but she's told me she very much prefers girls. With gay girls, I always felt like we had something we could bond over- girls. Like at the very least I can talk about how pretty girls are and that saves most any conversation. As much as I joke about the approval of the lesbian counsel, I really do appreciate hearing Cherry and Mitzi's opinion on people.

We shoot the shit for a little while before my parents come back inside, and Cherry sits up and away from Mitzi, both of them straightening uncomfortably.

I hate how my parents make them feel. I hate even more that the only reason my parents make them feel that way is because I'm too much of a chicken to even ask my parents how they feel about gay people. Somehow, my homophobe radar is even worse than my gaydar, and that is saying something.

My parents and I have always been so close, and yet it seemed like the topic never came up. It was like… they never said anything when the topic ever came up. They would always seem totally neutral- and I assumed it was so that they didn't have to have that conversation- but I can't help but worry that their reaction might be different if it was one of my friends. I couldn't imagine losing Cherry because of my parents reacting poorly to her having a girlfriend.

"Well I'll see you later, Cherry and Mitzi. I'll text you later when I get the PS4 set up, ok?"

"I'm available aaaaall day. My summer job doesn't start 'till Wednesday." Cherry crosses her legs and leans back against the arm of the couch. "See ya then, Ceej!"

"Bye CJ!" Mitzi waves goodbye, letting her sewing fall into a pile in her lap. I wave back as I hit the end call button.

"Your friends missin' you already?" Mom asks.

"Yeah, and I do too. I can't believe you made me come on this trip." I give an over the top groan to play into the joke.

"I know- our cruelty surely knows no bounds, right Chip?"

"Sure does. Next thing you know we'll be inviting you to disneyworld. The horror!"

Mom ruffles my hair and kisses my forehead, something I can never express to her fully how much I appreciate, and Pops takes off his apron and starts gathering up dishes.

"Let me, Pops. You made breakfast- I can wash the dishes up!"

He seems a little flustered by my offering, but I quickly swoop in with my comforter cloak and scoop all of the dishes into the sink, filling it with water and adding a bit of soap.

"In the meantime, I'll work off that breakfast by getting a load of laundry going. CJ, I'll empty your hamper too," Mom deliberates, rolling up her blue cardigan's sleeves and turning off to my room.

"Thanks maaaaa," I call back as I start in on scrubbing off the skillet.

It feels good knowing that we all have each others' backs like this. Mom takes a chore from me, I take a chore from Pop, Pop takes a chore from Mom- we make those little sacrifices for each other, and that way no job ever goes undone.

A half an hour later and the cabinets are refilled with sparkling white plates and shined silverware. I wash my hands of the dish grime and admire my handiwork. Dang, I'd make a good housewife someday. Maybe that could be my major- malewife sciences.

It's about 9:40 now, and not seeing much else to do, I go to my room to dig up my playstation. In a few minutes, I find that I put it in my closet for some reason- I must have gotten lazy during my rush to get out on the beach yesterday.

I jam the proper cords in the proper ports and boot up the console, checking the controller battery and seeing it completely full.

While I wait for the console to start up, I shoot Cherry a text.

CJ: Ready whenever you are! Thinking we could play dbd or minecraft or something

Cherry: Hell yeah! I'm in a dbd mood today, I think. I could go for a scare

CJ: I know you're only saying that cause Mitzi hugs you when she's scared, and that she gets scared watching you play _

Cherry: Mayhaps….

Opening up my games folder, I start up dead by daylight- a favorite of ours- and invite Cherry to my in-game party to play. We're waiting in queue for a match to start when Pops walks by the door, his fishing rod and tackle box in tow.

"Hey Squirt! Figure I'm gonna take a page outta your book and go explorin' a bit. I'll be down the beach fishing if you feel like joining me later."

"Are you going towards town or towards the airport?"

"Airport- Your mom told me about that Pascal chap you met and how that cove down there is his turf. I don't wanna intrude." He laughs that 'nyuk nyuk' laugh that he passed down to me.

I roll over on the bed so I'm laying upside down. "Okaaay- If I head out today I'll come by and bug you."

"Aw you're never buggin' me, fishbait." He smiles warmly and waves. "See ya later! Try not to spend all day inside. Soak up some sun!"

With Pops gone, I call Cherry on my phone and we talk over voice chat as our first match officially starts.

A couple games and a lot of talk about nothing later, I think to check the clock and notice that it's about 11 now. I've spent a good part of the day just playing video games, but somehow I'm not bothered. Getting to spend all this time with Cherry has been nice, and it reminds me just how much I appreciate her.

"Hey Cher?"

"Yeah Ceej?"

"I love you, and you're my best friend."

Silence over the line for a few seconds as I realize how weird that might sound completely out of nowhere.

"DUDE AWWWW I LOVE YOU TOO BESTIE," She shouts back with a squeal.

I start Nyuk-nyuking, and before I know it my infectious laugh has Cherry rolling too. Moments like these are ones I wish I could photograph, but without that option available, I just sit and soak it up like sunbeams.

It's noon when Cherry manages to pull herself away from the game and go do the chores she'd been putting off all day. I'm sad that we have to cut our hangout time short, but she says we'll do it again soon, and I make it a promise as we hang up.

With a huff, I roll off the bed and stretch up to the ceiling. Still have a whole half a day ahead of me, and still no idea how to spend it. Cherry's busy, and aside from just sitting on my phone all day, I can't really think of anything that sounds all that appealing right now. I'm in one of those restless moods.

Just as I'm about to slump back into bed, I get a text from Flick, which I open without hesitation.

Flick: Hey CJ! I know you said maybe we could hang out sometime, and I was just asking if you wanted to come over? My parents are out of the house today to help with the museum, so we'd have the house to ourselves! :D

Flick: Wait, that sounded weirder than I meant it to LOL

Flick: I mean like we can eat all the junk food we want and blast music- that kinda stuff.

CJ: Hmm, let me check my schedule.

I know that I don't have anything even resembling a schedule, but I leave him waiting anyway so I can decide. Well… not really decide, since I would be more than happy to hang with him, but maybe just look like I'm more put together than I really am.

CJ: I'm free today! Text me the address and I'll head over.

Flick: Awesome! See you then- here's the address…

Before I leave, I throw on a tan t-shirt, blue joggers, a light olive jacket, and a pair of red sneakers. I take a minute to adjust my hair and brush my teeth- I really wanna make sure I leave a good second impression. Not sure if that's a thing.

Following the directions my phone gives me, I trek into the woods just past town, passing by the entrance to the trail and going a bit farther until I'm at the bottom of the mountains. Flick's house is a well-kept cabin, longer than it is tall with dark wooden walls and shuttered windows. The lawn is covered in local plants, grasses, and flowers bursting from every green surface. Raised wooden boxes line the gravel driveway and are filled with ripe tomatoes, spicy-scented greens, giant melons, and all other manner of fruits and veggies. Fruit trees dot the edges of the house, with vines of flowers wrapping around the trunks, the roots pushing through the mossed brick that attempted to contain the thriving flowerbed. There's a garage off to the side of the cabin that follows the same architecture, but the mauve door is closed.

I have two initial thoughts: One, it feels like I walked into some fairytale where I'm about to meet some ancient druid; and two, these guys must eat like kings with a garden like this. Damn.

In one of the windows I see a spiked silhouette jump and quickly rush towards the door, which opens to reveal a waving Flick.

"Hey CJ!- come on in." He turns around and gestures for me to follow.

Once I follow Flick through the door, I'm hit with a delicious, yeasty scent- Fresh bread, like the kind I smelled when in town, but there's something more earthy and rustic about this one, like the kind made entirely from scratch.

"Sorry if it's hot in here, we've had the oven running all morning. I was making some bread, since my yeast starter was kinda… getting a bit overflowed, heh."

Entering the closet-sized mudroom, I kick off my sneakers, since I see Flick isn't wearing shoes either.

As soon as I'm inside the house, I'm shocked by how much smaller it is than I expected. It looks almost like the inside of a trailer home. The sitting room and kitchen are all one room, the whole floor except for the kitchen being covered in a soft shag carpet. The cramped living room consists of a loveseat and two recliners, all made of wrinkled brown leather and pointed at an old tv atop a rustic wooden coffee table. The walls are covered in family photos; models of fish, bug, and animal alike; and other certificates and mementos immortalized on plaques. Everything feels oddly mismatched and worn, like something you'd see in a thrift store.

Somehow, it's comforting- being in a place so lived in and comfy.

"You wanna come see my room? The kitchen's sort of a mess right now…"

I nod, trying not to pay too much attention to the kitchen, which from the looks of it, seems to be covered in flour, the counters littered with delicious looking loaves of bread.

Flick heads to the left past the kitchen and down a small hallway, flipping the light switch as he goes. There are two doors on either side, and I'm confused when Flick passes both of them, instead crouching down at the end of the hallway and… sticking his hand underneath the carpet? Suddenly, the floor opens up, revealing a trap door. I stand staring for a few, dumbstruck moments.

"D-Dude?"

"My parents had the house built with a basement, but they thought that a trap door would be more fun than a staircase," Flick explains. I can tell he isn't joking.

"Really?"

"My parents are crazy, man!"

"I hope you mean crazy awesome. This is sick!"

Flick steps down onto a sturdy wooden step ladder built into the basement wall. I cautiously follow, trying not to stumble and land on him.

"Picture this," I say to Flick, "Home invasion. Assailant is breaking down the door. Where do you go? Why, the secret underground bunker that also acts as your room, of course! Now they'll never find you and you can get robbed in peace."

I can feel Flick roll his eyes behind me. "As cool as that would be, we don't get a lot of home invasions around here. Nobody really has much reason to steal anything. Plus, most home invasions happen when the robbers know you aren't home."

Flick steps off the ladder and takes my hand, helping me down. As soon as I turn to look at the room, I'm struck by how cozy it looks for a basement.

Shaded lamps hanging from the walls bathe the room in warm light that meshes perfectly with the reddish brown wooden walls. The floor is hardwood, but multiple checkered rugs dot the ground, the largest spanning half of the room and sitting under a desk at the far end, which is covered in sculpting tools, paintbrushes, and a few of those sculptures I had seen on the walls upstairs

The room as a whole is surprisingly well kept, with shelves full of art awards and critter models; a few electric guitars and basses hanging from the wall behind me; and the rest of the room covered in bug catching gear- nets, containers, feed, and even a camera for picture taking. In the corner is a massive bed big enough for two. The bed frame is built into the wall and is made of the same material, giving the bedroom a distinct harmonious feel.

"Woah…"

"Pretty cool, right? Welcome to my little hidey-hole."

Flick sits on his bed, kicking his feet up and grabbing a book from his bedside table, giving me a few more moments to soak in the interior decorating.

"Your parents made this?" I ask quietly.

"Yep. My mom's a contractor. She helped build the house and made my room just how I wanted it. When I was a kid, I asked to live in the ground like a mole cricket and… well, we know how that played out." He chuckles, growing a little red. "The decorating inside has been me though. I've picked out all the rugs and furniture aside from the bedframe."

"Dude."

"What?"

"That's so cool. Holy shit."

"I mean… not that cool."

"Is too! When I was little, my parents sent me to my room for drawing on the walls. But yours? They built you a whole Barbie dreamhouse." I slump onto the bed, feeling the warm flannel comforter scratch my fur.

"Not sure if Barbie was ever all that into bugs. Or flannel. But also my parents got my first wall drawing framed, I think. We should still have it upstairs somewhere."

I scoff. "Hippie."

Flick sticks his tongue out at me, but he laughs anyway. It's nice to be at the good-natured teasing phase already- Hands down the best part of friendship.

My eyes eventually grow tired of staring at the ceiling and instead drift down towards Flick's desk. Aside from his well-kept laptop, the entire surface of his desk is stained with paint, clay, and dye. The hard wood looks worn down in some places like he had been moving his models around a lot to search for details.

Flick sees me looking and makes a move to clean up a bit, closing his laptop and pushing his current incomplete model off to the side, blowing on it a bit as it dries.

"What is it you're making? It looks familiar." I roll onto my stomach and idly watch him clean.

Flick glances over for a moment, his face turning red. "W-Well I just started it. It's supposed to be that Atlas Moth you sent me those pictures of. You got so many angles that I felt confident that I could really… capture its essence- know what I mean?"

Tilting my head and looking at it another way, I can see what I originally thought to maybe be an arm holding a very fat green bean is actually a branch, and that green bean is really the moth's body! Thin silver wires jut out from its sides and form the shape of the wingspan, clearly meant to be a placeholder until Flick can add the details.

"Yeah I do- I can totally see it now. Woah. And you just started this today?"

"Well, no actually I started as soon as I saw the photos. Have you ever… like, considered photography? You have a real knack for it." I can hear him getting flustered and trying to turn the conversation away from him.

"I have actually. I've always loved photos, like the ability to take pictures of people, places, things, and even whole moments- all captured at their most beautiful or memorable. My parents always told me that memories are better than pictures, and in some ways I guess that fits, but there's still something so nice about a photo that can do more than just a memory can. Ya feel?"

I shock even myself with how much I go on about myself. I guess Flick's just that kind of person who's easy to open up to. It's nice to talk about, since I don't think all that many other people know about my love for photography, outside of knowing me as the guy who takes way too many selfies.

Flick's pulled up his seat at the desk, and while he's clearly listening, it feels like he's using it more as an excuse not to have to keep eye contact, kinda like how did when he was sketching yesterday.

"I think so, yeah. It's the same reason why I sculpt. These bugs can't be kept forever. I don't even want to keep them forever- They deserve to be free- but I still want to keep something of them, so I make these sculptures and drawings. Like… Like you said- people, places, things, and moments all captured at a time when they're at their most beautiful."

We both just sit in contemplative silence on that. Cherry and Mitzi have good instincts, I think to myself, Flick is cool as hell.

The silence gets a bit too long for Flick it seems, so he opens up his laptop and starts playing some music. It's a mix of rock and emo songs, the kind that you listen to more for the aesthetic. It could also be that he's playing music he thinks sounds more normal because I'm here. I do see him quickly skip over a few songs here and there, embarrassed, so maybe that's it.

We just sit like that for a while, vibing to the music as Flick works and I watch his precise fingers make something out of nothing but a wad of wet dirt. He's using a small metal tool to iron out a finer detail on the legs when I decide to speak up. "What are your college plans?"

Flick shrugs. "Dunno. I'd go to art school, but my mom told me that it's a scam. I'm not really sure what I wanna do with my job if I'm being honest…"

"I feel ya there." I sigh, thinking about my current job prospects. "It's so weird how they expect you to have your whole career figured out when you're eighteen. Like, no wonder so many people keep dropping out, right?"

"God, I know. It's so stupid. Plus, I'm so used to how free-form my school has been… I'm not sure how well I'd do in college. Maybe I could get an apprenticeship as a plumber? I hear they have good benefits. Union jobs too."

"Or you could be an artist."

Flick looks at me and snorts. "Yeah, like I'd make much money sitting in my basement sculpting bugs for a living."

"I'm serious- you could make a lot of money! The rich love spending their money on extravagantly expensive stuff they don't need. I'm sure any one of your sculptures could easily sell for 100,000 bells each at the very least."

I see Flick going red again, his brow furrowing in embarrassment. "Not that much money. I mean even my smallest, easiest one to make only takes me, like, four hours to make. That's 25,000 bells an hour. That's way too much money for what I do."

"So? My Pops does fishing contests, and I've seen people rake in upwards of 50,000 bells in 20 minutes when the rain is right and the fish are active enough."

A small, sheepish smile spread across Flick's face. "You really think I could… make it as an artist? I mean- be honest."

"I have been!" I laugh, "you gotta follow your dreams, no matter how weird they may seem. You know what they say- Aim your rod for an oarfish, even if you miss, you'll at least have a sea bass to show for it."

"And who is the 'they' that says this?"

"My Pops and me."

Flick grabs a pillow off his bed and throws it at me. It makes a 'pomf' noise as it smacks me in the face.

Immediately, I take the pillow in my hands. My how the tables have turned- now I look over Flick, and he realizes that he has everything to lose as he moves to cover his statue.

"No! Leave my model out of this!" He laughs. But my bloodlust is insatiable, and I move in anyway for sweet revenge. Flick grabs another pillow and sweeps my legs, sending me tumbling onto his floor.

"Oh you jerk!" I mercilessly slam my weapon into his shoulder, and he drops his pillow, which he dives to grab, all the while I never let up my barrage of unstoppable whacking. It's been so long since last I had a pillow fight, and boy have I had a lot of fight brewing in me since then.

We duke it out. Flick dives for his bed a few times, I intercept with an overhead slam. He swings at my gut. I get him in the face a few times, to which I get a "hey!" or "you dick!" as he spits out the fabric with a laugh. I've almost won when we hear the trap door opening. My first thoughts jump to the home intruder situation I theorized about, but instead a green chameleon sticks his head in, one eye trained on me, the other on Flick.

"Hi Dad!" Flick waves, and I relax. I wouldn't need to unleash my pillowfight prowess on this stranger after all.

"I was wondering what was making all that racket," Flick's dad chuckled, his voice gentle with a slight rasp, "you didn't tell us you had a friend over."

"Sorry Dad- this is CJ. I invited him to come and see my models, and I was showing him when… well."

"I totally bodied him in a pillowfight."

"Did not!"

"Oh yeah, I definitely did. You got creamed, my friend."

Flick's dad climbs down the ladder and grasps my hand with both of his, giving me a firm handshake. "Well, it's nice to meet you, CJ. You can call me Nat, and you're welcome here anytime! A friend of Flickie-Flickster is a friend of ours."

I smirk at Flick as I see him go a whole new shade of red. I would poke fun, but as someone whose dad calls him "fishbait," I don't know if I have room to criticize.

"Flick, your mom and I were just about to have some of that bread you made as a snack. Would you and CJ want to join us?" Nat looked to Flick with both eyes.

"Y-Yeah sure, Dad."

I have to admit I'm excited to meet Flick's parents just from their lawn decorating style alone. As we sit and eat fresh cinnamon raisin bread, they tell me all about their jobs as an entomologist (a bug scientist) and a contractor. Nat and his wife, Marianne, both work together to build and maintain insect sanctuaries and exhibits in museums and conservation sites around the world. With Nat's knowledge of insects and their needs, and Marianne's practical skills and building experience, they make a lot of money with their traveling exhibits.

"I do have to admit, we hate leaving Flick so often," Flick's mom laments, grabbing her son's hand across the table, "but we both still love our jobs, even if we love Flickie more."

"Mooooom," Flick groans, a simmering look on his face as his mom squeezed his shoulder.

"What about your family, CJ? What do your parents do?" Flick's Dad inquires as he spreads butter on a roll.

"Well, my Pops has always been a fisherman. He likes to organize fishing contests and fundraisers and stuff- like a fishing wedding planner kinda." I hesitate a bit when Flick chuckles, but I continue. "And my Mom is an author and survivalist instructor- she helps coach people on survival skills and also writes guidebooks on it."

"Ah so they're both the outdoorsy type. I can see how they rubbed off on you," Flick's mom answers.

"Oh yeah you have no idea." I pull out my phone and swipe over to my photos, pulling up one of me holding one of my record tuna from last year to show everyone. "Mom taught me some survivalist stuff, but I learned pretty much everything there is to know about fishing from my Pops."

"Ooh I didn't know you fished! You know, when my Flick was a little girl, he had taken after me and my bug catching," Nat explained, "you were, what, six years old when you first started taking my nets?"

I wouldn't have thought much about anything Flick's dad just said if I didn't see the awkward, panicked eye contact Flick made with him immediately. Flick's dad looks confused for a few moments before his eyes shoot wide open and he sputters.

"L-Little boy I mean, sorry Flickster."

I dunk a roll into a mug of broth Flick's mom had warmed for me, trying to avoid looking on at the ensuing awkwardness. I've… never heard of that being a problem before? I don't know how Nat could forget that his son was a boy, especially since he had been raising Flick for his entire life.

"It's fine, Dad." I see Flick shake his head and return to stirring his mug of tea like nothing had happened, though I see his shoulders are still tensed.

The rest of our meal goes by without any problem. Flick starts speaking up more, asking me about my fishing hobby, and his parents interrupt a few times to bring up times where Flick made models of fish. Though they try not to push, I can see that they're both excited about the thought of us being able to collaborate. Flick is as unreadable as he has been these past two days on whether or not he likes that idea.

"Well it was lovely getting to meet you, sonny." Flick's dad places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a firm squeeze. Flick's mom wraps me up in a hug instead, much like my mom loves to do.

"Yeah same here! I'll have to come by again sometime soon. Maybe I'll be able to bring by some fish we can cook up," I offer.

I see Flick smile as he steps forward to say goodbye. "Yeah for sure! I've always wanted to cook up some seafood- I've just never been able to catch anything."

"Well lucky you, making such a good new friend!" Flick's mom teases, ruffling his spikes.

I laugh. "Yeah, it's a lot easier with a rod than it is with a net. Not to toot my own horn, but I'm sure I'll snag up something good here sometime soon. I can clean it if you guys will cook and help me eat it."

We all agree to make tentative plans for a dinner party sometime soon, and Flick walks me outside, leaving his parents to go watch TV in the den.

"Hey so… uh…" Flick walks ahead of me, not making eye contact and digging his hands in his pockets. "About what my dad said."

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh, that? I mean, it's weird that he'd forget you're a guy, since he's known you your whole life. Why did it seem like such a big deal?"

Flick turns to look at me, and I can see some relief on his face. "Oh, uh… nah it's nothing. I just wanted to bring it up cause it was funny." He laughs, though it doesn't feel genuine.

There's something more to it than just that, but I don't even have a guess as to what, so I drop it. "Well… it was great hanging out with you, Flick. Hey, I'm staying out at this beach house near the boardwalk. I can text you the address- but if you wanted to stop by, feel free."

I find the words just tumbling out before I can think about it. I guess I hadn't realized how much I could use the company.

Flick's eyes twinkle in the setting sun, and I'm dazzled by a flash of purple. "I'll take you up on that. There are some bugs on the beach I've been meaning to catch anyway. We could do a fishing and bug hunting combo tour or something like that."

"It's a deal!"

Maybe this is awkward for him, but I find myself pulling Flick into a bear hug, wrapping my arms around his and squeezing hard enough to lift him off the ground.

When I pull away, he's beet reed, though I chalk that up to me squeezing so hard. Before he can stop me, I whip out my phone and snap a photo of us- his face still shocked as I pull a picture-perfect smile. Another memory of this summer to treasure.

"I-I'll see you later, CJ!"

"Later, Flick! I'll text you that pic!" I shout back as I jog down his driveway.

When I get back home, I find Mom and Pops gone, only a note left for me on the counter.

Hi CJ, your dad and I are going out for dinner tonight. We have some frozen pizza in the freezer, or you can go out to town and grab something. We should be back at around 9, maybe a bit later. Love you, and be safe! 3

"9? PM? Those crazy kids, staying out way past curfew," I laugh to myself in a fake-stern voice.

With my parents out of the house, I flip on the TV in the living room and watch a few cartoons. My parents don't ever really bother with cable at home, but this beach house already had it included, so I'm enjoying the luxury more than I thought I would.

At around 6 pm I pop in the pizza, and come 6:30, I've opened a can of soda and dug in, paying half attention to whatever cartoon is on as I munch down on the cheese, pepperoni, and thin buttery crust.

The rest of the night is slow and lax, the sea breeze floating in through the open windows and lulling me near sleep. I'm already all showered and in bed by the time Mom and Pops come back- Mom comes in to whisper goodnight, and I drowsily respond as she plants a gentle kiss on my forehead.

Just as I'm becoming content with falling asleep, my phone buzzes in my hand, and I raise a sluggish hand to read it.

Flick: Hey I hope it's ok, but I had some leftover bread, and I was wondering if I could stop by tomorrow and bring you some baked goodies?

CJ: HELL YEAH BRING ME BREAD

Flick: LOL OK XD

CJ: THAT'S REALLY THOUGHTFUL THANK YOU

I know I probably should follow up on that offer- maybe set up a time or have tell him what baked goods I would prefer, but none of those thoughts really stick long enough for my sleepy brain to consider them.

The last thing I see is one last message from Flick.

Flick: I'll see you tomorrow, CJ! Sleep well

CJ: Goodniiiiiite

Sleep overcame me almost immediately once I sent the text, and I let my face pomf into my pillow.