Alas, right then was not the time for Near to learn.

Practice eventually ended and I had some time before I was due home for dinner. It being a gorgeous Thursday afternoon toward the end of April, I decided to drop my junk in the back of my car and drive down to Matt's. I called him as I drove.

"Hello?" For once, he didn't sound high.

"Hey Matt. Mind if I drop by for a while? I've got a couple hours to kill."

There was some sort of shuffling on the line before he answered, "Yeah, totally. You know this is your second home. You don't have to ask anymore," I could hear him flop on his bed.

"Yeah, I know," I turned toward his house down in the middle of nowhere. "I still like to ask, though. You know, that crazy thing called manners?"

He snorted. "What the fuck are those?"

I chuckled back. "They're very rare nowadays. Usually, you only see them in either devout religious families such as my own, or people who just want their kids to be raised correctly."

"Oh, so that's why I don't have any…"

We chatted back and forth for the few minutes as I drove. It was meaningless spiel, just words to take up the time until I arrived. "I'm in your driveway," I alerted him as I pulled onto the cobblestone drive.

"I fear for my general well-being."

"Get in the bunker—the zombies are coming."

"Fuck you, Mel, don't joke about the zombies!" He hung up on me.

I sniffed at him and dropped my phone into my pocket. I jogged up the stairs of his porch and knocked on the door. Mrs. Jeevas answered after a moment and greeted me warmly with a hug. "Hello, Mello! Matt's upstairs, as usual. Luke just put a couple of pies in the oven for a bake sale, and we made an extra for us. Want us to call you in when they're ready?"

"Sure thing, Morgan." I had to admit, Matt's little brother make bitching pies. I smiled at his mom before kicking off my cleats and jogging up the hardwood stairs. I turned down the hall and stopped at the first door. The brown wood was layered in miscellaneous signs, stickers, and labels, most of which had something about Matt or his other nicknames on them.

I pushed it open. Matt was where I expected him to be: lounging on his bed with an Xbox controller in his hands. He didn't break his concentration on the screen mounted on the wall, but managed a dim, "Hey."

"Hey yourself." I plopped down onto his black overstuffed bean bag chair. "More Call of Duty?"

"Yep."

I watched his character move around and shoot player after player, each one displaying a new kill streak. It was up in the thirties by the time the game was over. His team had won, obviously. He turned off the game system and tossed the controller to the foot of his bed. He looked at me. "What's up?"

"Making plans for the apocalypse in my head. You're on my gunman team." My comment earlier got me thinking about that.

He smirked. "And you'd be my strategist. And you're good with a bat and your fists, if it ever comes to hand-to-hand combat. Trust me, I've got my team all set up by now," He dropped his heavy black boots to the ground. Why he'd voluntarily put his filthy feet on top of his bed was beyond me. But he didn't seem to be taking them off any time soon—actually, he was grabbing his vest. I guessed we were going outside.

Sure enough, he asked, "Hideout?"

Matt's hideout wasn't what you would normally expect. Although, when one says "hideout," I'm not quite sure what to imagine. In any case, it sure as hell isn't a tree house in the middle of the woods. Nonetheless, it's just as crazy to us eighteen-year-olds as to when we were six. We're just used to it.

It's a basic tree house: wooden platform with anchors on the four trees at the four corners. There was a shingled roof stretching above it. The sides were made up of half-walls that connected at regular intervals with the ceiling. We had installed windows a while back to protect the contents of the hideout during bad weather. There were shelves built into each of the corners with miscellaneous junk Matt kept up there. It had the stereotypical locking floor latch that leads to a ladder attached to one of the tree trunks. And, over the years, we've loaded it with furniture, consisting of a ratty old corduroy couch, a table and a couple of folding chairs, a coffee table, and another pair of end tables. We've even got a nice rug in there. But it was settled a good twenty feet in the air, and when the door was locked, it was nearly impossible to infiltrate without Matt's key.

We've spent up to a week out there at a time, only returning to the house for food and certain bathroom breaks.

Now that I'm beginning to see Matt… in a different light, so to speak, I wish we could go back to those lazy summers and do that all over again. Hell, even if I wasn't gay, I still miss it. We'd just sit here and talk, nap, play cards, chess, checkers, trivial pursuit—any and every game we collectively owned.

Now, he uses it as a smoke house. One shelf is full of bongs, another contains a gas mask. I'm one hundred percent positive he's got at least a half ounce of weed and a box of condoms stashed in various places. Although the games are still there, and are still played occasionally, they're no longer the pinnacle of activities in the hideout.

Call me sentimental, but I think growing up sucks.

So we went out to the hideout, where we employed Battleship nearly immediately. I sipped on a can of cherry coke he handed me on our way through the house.

He lit up a cigarette. "So what's up?" He asked me for the second time.

"Nothing but Near being fucking fag."

"He hitting on you again?"

"Again?" I hummed a confirmation. "More like still." I sighed. "You don't know how many times over I want to punch that kid out. As soon as this season's over, the next time he flirts with me, he's going to have a broken nose and red pajamas... B7?"

"Miss." Matt leaned back and propped his boots up on the railing. We exchanged guesses in content silence for a few minutes.

Between turns, I looked at him. His eyes were focused on his laptop-like side of the Battleship board and appeared half-hooded behind his goggles. I couldn't help but think about the things I was kind of embarrassed to admit I wanted to do to him. This whole not holding back my thoughts thing was awkward enough. But if I were to be completely honest with myself at that moment, I wished for nothing more than to lay one on him and join the "I've Been Fucked on Matt's Couch" club.

Whoa. That thought surprised even myself. Still, it wasn't a lie. I'm pretty sure "I think" just turned into "I am."

(For the record, I am not exaggerating. More people than I can think of off the top of my head have been drilled on that old sofa—and not necessarily all by Matt. His brothers were worse than he was. I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone actually did start a club like that.)

But that's beside the point. As if I hadn't been clear, Matt'd had his fair share of girls under his control. If I was going to pull this off, I'd have to ease into the idea of us being more than friends as slowly and comfortably as possible. I may just be tying my heart in knots for nothing, after all. That was probably the case. But I was going to try my best to pull my lifelong friend out of the closet I hoped he was in.

The game carried on. When I finally sank his carrier, Mat dropped his legs and sighed, smoke billowing from his nose. "Life sucks, then you die."

"What, because I fragged your frigate?"

"No, but that's why people call you gay."

I rolled my eyes at him. So what if I am? I had to bite my tongue to keep from blurting it out. "Okay, life sucks. What else is new?"

He outright laughed at me. "Your life doesn't suck."

"Oh really?" I asked, bemused. I was genuinely interested in what he'd come up with.

"Come on, Mel," He began, rising from his seat. He folded his arms behind his head and turned halfway away, looking out at the forest over that infamous couch. "You've had a great life so far. For one, both of your parents are still alive."

He didn't need to remind me of his dad's death. I remembered it. It wasn't anything heartbreakingly and agonizingly slow; Mr. Jeevas had died in a car crash. It was sudden. Still, that didn't help ease any grief when he died when we were eleven. It just meant it took longer for the fact to sink in that Matt's dad was gone. He was revered as the sole executive carpenter of the hideout, and his name was carved into the wood around the railing: "In loving memory of Markus O. Jeevas. We love you, Dad," followed by each of the kids' names.

In fact, now that I thought about it, today was that day. Oh. That's probably what got Matt's mind working in the "I hate life" attitude. How could I have forgotten?

I bowed my head, conceding to that point and sending up a quiet prayer for his dad. He continued after the moment's pause, "You're the oldest of your family and only have one annoying sister instead of four. Your family is pretty much perfect. Your biggest addiction is chocolate," He played with the pack of cigarettes in his vest pocket. When he resumed, he turned back toward me. "You're the captain of the varsity baseball team and you're number two at one of the most prestigious schools ever. You've got nothing to complain about."

I didn't know what to say. Not very often does that happen to me. I tried to open my mouth to say something, unknowing of what would come out, but he interrupted me. "I haven't done a single constructive thing in my life, and I'm probably not going to. My life sucks. Yours, not so much." He turned again and looked out to the woods. His fingers curled over the railing and traced out the letters of his father's name.

"You have no idea," I murmured under my breath. I was toying with telling him right there that I liked him, but I held myself back. I reminded myself that sudden was not the way to go with this mission. Slowly and steadily. But how would I do that with someone as carefree and cynical as Matt?

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, the Song of Storms began to echo through the hideout. Matt drew his cell phone out of his pocket and answered it with a curt, "Yeah?" He listened for a moment before turning to me. "Pie's ready. Mia's home."

"Oh, shit," I mumbled. Great. Mia. I offered a feeble excuse to just drive away: "My mom's making dinner."

"Take a piece home with you."

Close enough.

I followed him down the ladder and jumped off a few feet from the ground. We tromped back through the woods, but he was silent. The reminder of his dad was enough to send him to another world—minus any illegal substances.

Now, I'm not cold-hearted, but I wasn't as affected by the seventh anniversary of Mark's death. Sure, I had loved him and missed him, too, but I'd accepted it. I guess it was different for Matt, though. I wouldn't really know; my dad's still alive and well, rarely as I see him.

When we entered his house once again, I was attacked from the side by a short ginger girl with a squeal: "Mello!"

I tried my best to pry her off of me. "Hi Mia."

Mia was Matt youngest older sister. She had always taken a bit of a liking to me, and being only a year and three months older than me, believed I was "totally dateable." When she went off to college last fall, I thought that would be the last of spontaneous tackle-hugs and squeals from her. I guess I was wrong.

"Oh, my god, you smell good," she sighed and stepped back. "As usual."

I raised an eyebrow and sniffed my shoulder. "I just came from practice," I stammered, "I'm—I'm smelly and gross."

She hummed at me. "Mm, that's not possible," she grinned and padded into the kitchen, where the scent of warm blueberry pie wafted through the air.

I looked to Matt. He facepalmed. "I hate her so much," he mumbled, watching his sister twirl back to me with a slice of pie. She handed it to me. Matt gaped at her. "So you get him a piece, but not your little brother?!"

"Um, yeah," she nodded, stealing a stray berry from my plate. I had learned long ago that her so-called "cuteness" only kicked in for me. She was as sassy as that cat from Homeward Bound to anyone else—especially Matt.

He rolled his eyes and retrieved his own piece from the youngest Jeevas. Luke was fourteen and almost as much of an overachiever as I was. He was president of the freshmen's student council. He was much quieter than any of his siblings around large groups of people, but he was a spoiled little brat. I guess that's what came with being the youngest in a family—Elsie was the same way.

I wrapped up my slice in plastic wrap and left it on the counter. A moment later, the five of us sat in the living room in various positions. Mia squeezed herself between Matt and me on the couch, much to my chagrin.

The annoyance grew when she dropped her head onto my shoulder, staring at her piece of pie. "I can't believe it's been this long already. I miss Dad," she murmured and pressed her head into my shoulder. I couldn't muster up the rudeness to nudge her off me when she said something like that, so I remained there, rather uncomfortable. I shifted.

"Me too, honey," Mrs. Jeevas said with a sigh.

"I miss his homemade doughnuts," Mia took a bite of her pie.

"I miss his woodworks." Luke spoke up.

"I miss our fishing trips." I glanced at Matt, remembering the times we were out on the lake with his father, how many fish were caught and grilled because of us.

"I miss our video game competitions." Matt grinned.

"I miss his hugs." Morgan sighed again, crossing her arms. We all nodded with various forms of agreement. I could hear the tears on the edge of her voice.

The mood was downcast. I looked over Mia at Matt. He met my eyes with a sad bounce of his eyebrows.

Only when the vibration of my cell phone echoed through the couch did Mia finally release me from her death grip. I fished it from my pocket and answered it, "Hello?"

"Hi. Are you coming home for dinner soon? It's a bit earlier than usual," My mom's voice asked from the other line.

I glanced at Matt, and my heart started again. It was aggravating how irresistible his deep blue eyes were, for the faintest of reasons. "Uh, yeah. I'm at Matt's place. I'll be home in ten, then." I hung up, looking back around the room. "Guess that's my cue to leave." I was thankful to finally be able to stand up.

I scooped up my pie and stood by the door. "Thanks for the pie, Luke." I grinned and waved. "Seeya."

"Bye Mello!"

I didn't want to leave. What I really wanted to do was go back out to the tree house and tell Matt that I was gay and have him love me as much as I think I love him. I wanted to feel his arms around me. I wanted him to hug and kiss me like every girl he's ever taken home in his life. I wanted to be that person Matt wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Instead, I left.

I think my chest finally stopped fluttering when I pulled into my driveway.

A/N: Happy Saturday! Sorry this one's a bit late; I have had a whirlwind of a day. I don't have much to say about this chapter, really, other than I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for all the reviews, faves, and follows. :)

Thanks for reading!

~Rachel