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You healed these scars, over time,

Embraced my soul, you loved my mind,

You're the only angel in my life.

GORDIE

I awoke, cold in the sunny morning, alone in my room. He was gone. Just a dent in my pillow and the scent of him all around me. Grass and smoke and something I couldn't quite place.

It was stupid to imagine that in the morning things would be the same, but it would have been even more idiotic to pretend it had never happened.

I don't think Chris realised that.

When I got to school, there was no sign of him at my locker. I sighed wearily, wishing I could go home and hide under my blankets. Or maybe not, they probably still smelt like Christopher fuckin' Chambers. I corrected myself as I walked down the corridor. My hips ached from our stupid clinch last night, but in some weird way it felt good. Proof that it had been real.

Last night had been a mistake. A deadly, dangerous mistake that could get us both canned. Why the fuck had it happened? Hormones? No fuckin' way. I'd had Janice curled round me like a clinging vine, and I'd seen Chris being dragged off by that whore Kerri something. Maybe we were drunk? I couldn't remember having more than a couple of beers, but would I if I'd been out of it? God knows if Chris had been sober.

I tried to tell myself that this was the explanation, but icy fingers of doubt crept up my spine. If I'd been drunk, why could I remember every detail of our kiss in perfect clarity? Why didn't my head ache like it had when Teddy had spiked my juice with vodka from his Daddy's cabinet?

I questioned myself to no avail as I walked to history, we were in separate groups for that class. I was weirdly grateful, needing time to sort my head out before the inevitable showdown.

Chris was my best friend. He'd seen me through the worst times, consoling and comforting. Always quick to sling an arm around my shoulder, and even pulling me close when I'd needed it. Teddy had joked that we were fags before, but he wasn't serious. It was just that we always stuck together. During all that shit with my Dad and Denny (which had left invisible scars that hurt worse than my hips) Chris had been there. A rock. A rock I depended on. But he didn't depend on me, he was Christopher Chambers. Tough guy Chris who took no shit and never cried. He didn't need anyone.

Then what in Jesus' name had happened last night? Kissing, touching... What was it? I mean, we both liked girls...

"Hey, Gordie." I was roused from my agonised musings by Janice, who was turning round to grin at me.

"Oh, hi, Janice. You okay?" I focused on her pretty face. Chocolate brown eyes, chesnut hair. Trying to feel something. Anything.

"Good thanks. How's life?" She looked at me strangely. Searchingly.

"Alright." I lied, turning my eyes the text book in front of me.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothin'." I lied again.

"Is it Chris?"

My head snapped up so fast it hurt.

"What?"

"Chris," She looked at me like I was crazy, "Aren't you two like, a 'thing'?" She flipped a strand of hair over her shoulder.

"No. What the fuck gave you that idea?" My voice was sharp.

She shrank back a little but persevered, "I-I saw the way he reacted at the party. Way to make it obvious." She shrugged, looking taken aback.

What? Chris had reacted to me talking to a girl? I bit back the question that nearly made it past my lips. How did he react?

"Well that's freakin' bullshit. Shut up, and don't go spreading shit around. Y'hear?"

She didn't cringe away from my angry snarl. She just looked at me sadly.

"You think he doesn't love you?" She asked. What the fuck?

"Shut up, girl!" I put my hands over ears, knowing they wouldn't drown her out.

She didn't even blink. "Find out, seriously. You two are so sweet together."

She turned around again, leaning over her work like we'd just had a totally normal conversation. I stared wordlessly at the back of her head for a few seconds, torn between hitting her and giving her a big hug. In the end I just froze my brain, forcing myself to only focus on American history as the clock tolled on toward break time.

After class, I decided enough was enough. I saw Chris by the cafeteria. Don't be a pussy. I commanded myself, forcing my feet to move in his direction. He didn't notice me until I was right behind him. I cleared my throat and he turned around to face me, then looked away again hurriedly. Like he couldn't stand to meet my eyes. He shifted from foot to foot uneasily.

For fuck's sake! This is your best friend! I screamed to myself. Were things so bad that we couldn't even look at each other any more? It would be easier if we could just pretend nothing happened, I realised. But it wasn't gonna be that way, obviously. Not now.

"Hey." I said quietly, suddenly finding myself examining my shoes.

"Yeah." I heard him mutter almost inaudibly.

"So, um... you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah." That same flat monotone.

We stood in an awkward, painful silence for what seemed like hours. And then - not being able to stand it – I put a desperate hand on his shoulder. This was a big mistake.

He jerked away like I was poisonous, white hot anger twisting his face as he looked at me head on. His hands made contact with my chest and I reeled backwards, falling and cracking my head on the floor. This anger wasn't passionate. It was simple fury that blinded him to everything else.

"Don't fuckin' touch me, fag." He spat, his eyes wild."I fuckin' hate you, you know that? You no-good son of a whore! Who are you to put your grubby little hands on me? You know how pissed I was last night? Stupid faggot!"

I got to my feet as fast as I was able, not caring that my head and hips throbbed in protest. He continued ranting incoherently, grinding his feet into the floor like an enraged bull. I staggered away from him, unable to stifle the moan that escaped my mouth as the pain (both physical and emotional) sparked. I limped quickly down the corridors, fighting tears and clutching my head. Trying to drown out the inner pain, too.

I'd already begun to hope subconsciously. To wish, to dream...

If only the previous night had been real.

***

The rest of the day passed by miserably. Chris either glared at me like I was the scum of the earth, or flat out ignored me. I think I preferred the first state. At least he acknowledged me. Cared enough to hate me. But soon the glares diminished too, and I found myself praying that he would shoot me a venomous glance. How sad. How pathetic.

After school, I walked home in a depressed daze. My parents wouldn't be back till tomorrow, so I was all alone in the house with only sleep to look forward to. I missed my best friend.

Too wound up for homework or reading, I collapsed on to my bed about eight o' clock. I let Chris flood my mind. Punches of his smile, his determination. The look in his eyes as he'd hovered over me in that hot street. Drunk or not, that had to have meant something. Right?

I felt a few tears slide down my cheeks as I remembered the disgusted, contemptuous look that had filled his eyes when he'd called me faggot. I knew I'd rather die than lose my best friend...

I awoke suddenly. Tears now dry on my face, leaving a salty trail of dust. I'd fallen asleep, fully clothed with the lights still on. I wondered what had woken me as I hurriedly pulled off my shirt and socks, lying back on the bed with my hands behind my head.

I wanted to go back to sleep so I could stop thinking. Chris drifted in and out of my thoughts and it was giving me hell. Dreams would surely be more pleasant than this reality? I didn't want kisses from him, or any nasty gay shit like that. I just wanted us to be friends again. The rest I could live through.

I sighed, closing my eyes and listening to the rain pummel at my window. Good, I thought dimly. Maybe it'll be cooler tomorrow.

I'd about dozed off again, when something hit my window. Hard. Twice. I jumped. Was I still sleeping? What kinda freak dreamt about waking up?

To check, I slowly got up and found that the floorboards under my toes felt real. Substantial. Solid. I walked to the window and peered out. It was so dark and the glass was so flecked with rain that I could only just make out Chris' t-shirt. And his eyes. Hell, if this was a dream then I'd fuckin' take it.

I swung the latch up, and locked eyes with my friend. Water was dripping from ever plane of him, and drops spattered on to my bare chest and feet. Goosebumps rose on my arms. His sodden top clung to every inch of his chest, and his jeans squelched as he held on tight to my window pain, his knuckles white he was gripping so hard. His jaw was clenched tight, his mouth set in a hard line. How long had he been outside? His climbing the drainpipe must have woken me up.

I watched him carefully. Had he come to yell at me? Call me all those filthy words? Cautiously I put a hand on his soaked shoulder, braced for his assault like this morning. But none came. He continued to stare me out as I pulled him into my room, shutting the window behind him. Shutting us out from the rain and the dark.

Standing motionless, water dripped into a pool at Chris' feet. His eyes were lost, distant, like he didn't know what he was doing there. He blinked water out of his eyelashes. I stood in front of him. Gotta be brave now, win or lose. I told myself. This was real. No one could blame it on consumption of alcohol or hormones. We were both stone cold sober in both respects.

I moved my hand up to cup his cheek, my fingers spread just below his right eye. He kept his gaze on me, cautioning me with his eyes. Go slow.

I went in slow motion, inch by inch, until my lips touched his. He drew back slightly, convulsively, and I felt a mad sputter in my chest. But then he moved forward again, brushing his rough, wet lips against mine as softly as he was able. Tenderly. This should have been our first kiss.

This thought came from somewhere deep in the caverns of my brain. I resolved that I would always treasure this as such. The night Chris Chambers kissed me softly in my room, the lights bright and the rain sheeting down outside.

My hand still on his face, I knew I had to lead here. This was so hard for him. Going against his very nature, against every idea he'd ever had. Against the core of who he was. Hell, me too. Every second I stood before him I changed, my heart beat faster as it fought to make a space for rational thinking.

Carefully, I led him a few steps back, to my bed. I lay back, pulling his head down on my exposed chest. His head fit perfectly into the crook of my skinny neck, as he ran his hand over my chest. He acted like he were in a dream. A zombie. A robot. This upset me, but I would take what I could get. I could feel his fast pulse hammer in his throat. I stroked his hair, feeling him shake as he lay across me. Stiff and sad as he stroked my cold torso.

"It's okay... it's alright." I whispered soothingly, as if trying to calm a spooked animal. I rocked him back and forth, feeling his short hair smooth against my neck and fingers. He seemed to ease beneath my touch, and I moved to press my lips to his.

His arms – soaking wet – wound around me now, pulling me on top of him. God, he was so cold, it sent shivers up and down my body. His hand traced the shape of my cheekbone, as he kissed me back softly again. There was no aggression, – or at least, very little – this was simple. Easy. Indulgent. Beautiful. I was soon dripping with water too, and I felt a chuckle rumble in his chest. He sat up momentarily, yanking his sopping shirt off and chucking it into the corner of my room. I marvelled at his easy grace and musculature, greedy now I had the means.

Later, after some lazy kisses and no words, we fell asleep again. As I drifted off next to him, I knew he would stay this time. He had to.