Kissing Stan was like kissing no one else. I had a few lovers, but I'd never had one that meant much to me, and that feeling was always mutual. It was usually just for convenience's sake.

But Stan, well, he kissed me like he was trying to share some deep, secret place inside himself. It was as intense as it was sweet, and I was completely breathless when he pulled away.

He searched my face as he leaned back, but his hand was still cupped on my cheek.

"Was that- was that ok?" he asked as his face took on the brightest shade of red I think I'd ever seen.

I laughed, and leaned forward to kiss him again, trying to put as much feeling into it as he had.

"Guess so," he said when I stopped to catch my breath, "I've never kissed a guy before."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. He seemed to know what he was doing.

"Yeah, I've never been brave enough to. At home I dated girls. I always threw up on them if I tried to kiss them, though. I guess that should have been the first clue, huh?"

"You weren't sure if you liked boys?" I asked, leaning up to kiss his cheek. It was like some invisible barrier between us had been lifted.

"Oh, no, I've known for a long time. When I was younger I thought it was just normal curiosity, but when I told the priest at my church he said it was wrong and unnatural. So I dated girls to hide it. That was what felt 'wrong and unnatural' to me, though."

He shrugged and kissed me again, stroking his thumbs gently across my cheeks.

"But," he continued, "You know... I guess. Well, I tried to ignore it. How I felt, I mean. But I never... um. I've never liked anyone as much as I like you, so it was never worth taking the risk. I didn't want to mess it up, though. I thought you might get mad."

"No, that was perfect. You're perfect."

He smiled at that, but he still looked embarrassed.

"Do you, um, think I'm good looking, even though I'm covered in scars?" he asked.

I suppose that a man as attractive as he was must have been used to being praised for his looks all the time. It wasn't really something I could relate to, since I've always been average-looking, at best. Though he had never come across as vain, I suppose his looks had become enough of his identity that his perceived loss of them was a blow to his ego.

I sighed, and proceeded to remove my long-sleeved shirt. I'd taken great pains to never change clothes in front of him, for various reasons, but I felt the need to show him my own scars.

"See these?" I said, exposing my arms and back to him. The scars from the whippings I'd received in Treblinka were clear as day. "Do they change how you feel about me?"

"No I- Where- How did you get them?"

"Treblinka," I said, shrugging my shirt back on, "They bothered me for a while, so I understand how you feel. But once I'd settled in here for a few weeks and began to feel safer, I started to feel better about them. Yeah, they're a reminder of bad things… horrible things. But scars mean you survived something."

"I guess," he said, looking doubtful.

"Well, if it helps at all, I think you're extremely attractive, and I never saw you before you were injured."

"That does help, yeah," he said, smiling and taking my hand in his.

We laid together for a long time after that, mostly just talking, because any time I tried to get a little more adventurous, he would shy away. I suppose it was to be expected, considering the fact that if he'd never kissed a man before, he certainly wouldn't have slept with one either. Hell, I wasn't even sure if he'd ever had sex at all, and the thought of deflowering him was as exciting as it was daunting.

After he'd fallen asleep, his face pressed against my neck, I realized I was a little relieved that he'd been adverse to more physical pursuits. After all, I'd often used sex as simply a way to find comfort and distraction for a little while. I didn't want it to be that way with Stan.

It was some time in the early evening when I awoke to the sound of someone coming into the room. I tried to get up, but Stan was laying on top of me. My arms were half asleep from being pinned under him, so moving him to the side was proving too difficult in my groggy state.

Ike poked his head into the room, and then stopped short.

"Well, well, well," he said, stepping through the door, "What's this?"

"Nothing. Shut up," I said, finally managing to roll Stan to the side. He groaned and settled against the pillow, still sounds asleep.

"Sure looks like nothing," Ike responded, setting a plate on the bed, "Here, I brought you food."

I pulled the plate toward me, steadfastly ignoring the smug smirk that was spreading across Ike's face.

"Guess you thought he was handsome after all," he said, watching as I tucked into the chicken breast he'd brought me.

"Ike, do you really have to do this?"

He watched me eat for a moment, and then glanced at Stan, who was still out cold.

"I just don't want you to get hurt," he said, suddenly looking serious. "I mean, are you guys, like… together?"

"I don't know," I said, sighing, "We're… close. I really… I do care for him. More than I've ever cared for anyone, really. And I think he feels the same way."

"Hm," Ike said, staring at Stan.

"I don't know why it matters to you, anyway," I said. He huffed under his breath.

"Because you're my brother. Because you've been hurt so badly, and I'm afraid for you. I realize you know him better than I do, so I don't have a lot of room to judge, but how do you know he's not just going to mess around with you and then head back to America, completely washing his hands of you?"

"It's not like that at all, Ike. You don't understand."

"I know I don't, and I think that's what bothers me. It's really hard for me to tell how you really feel about things, and you react differently to everything now. I don't think you realize just how much you've changed."

"I'm sorry I'm not the same person I used to be," I said, irritated.

"Don't get passive-aggressive with me. You know I don't mean it that way. The way you react, though, everything you do and think seems to be affected by what you've been through. Like you getting defensive over my concern for you. You always did that a little, but not like this, and it makes me hurt for you. And I sincerely hope that if Stan makes you happy, that he can help you heal, but I just worry that you might rely on him too much for your happiness, and if he leaves you'll just be crushed."

We sat in silence, and I picked at the food on my plate.

"I appreciate your concern," I said, breaking the silence. He nudged me with his shoulder.

"'I appreciate your concern,' really? You used to tell me everything and that…. I mean, I get it. It's not the same. But you don't have to be all closed off like that. Not with me."

We stared at each other in silence for a moment. I looked away first.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I know things are different now, and I don't want them to be. And I know the fact that I haven't told you everything creates a rift between us. I hate it. But there's so much that I can never tell you, because it's too horrifying."

"But you've told Stan," he said.

"Some of it. Certainly not everything. There are things I don't think I will ever be able to speak about. But it's not Stan's family that was massacred, and it's not his home that he saw destroyed. He didn't know me before, so talking about the way these things broke me isn't the same as telling you. You… I think it would hurt you too much to know the worst parts. And because I'm hiding these awful things from you, it makes it hard to share the good things as well. I hate that. I really do. I want things to be ok between us, and I don't know how to achieve that."

"Things are always ok between us."

"I hate you being so serious," I said.

"Yeah well, I hate you being so mopey, but that's the way it is sometimes, isn't it?"
I sighed and leaned my head against his shoulder.

"I'm just glad you were here this whole time. It's so strange to have come here and found you mostly unchanged, but it's a comfort as well. The thought of finding you was the only thing that kept me alive when I escaped the camp."

"Jesus," he said, staring at his feet.

We both turned and looked as we heard Stan stirring behind us. He opened his eyes and stared at us in confusion.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice low and rough from sleeping.

"Nothing," Ike said as he rose to his feet, "Just swapping sex tips with Kyle."

"Ike…" I groaned.

"Well, I'll leave you guys to it!" he said, grinning and scampering out of the room.

I sighed heavily, and snuck a glance at Stan. He was staring at the bedspread looking slightly horrified.

"Sorry," I said, "He was just kidding."

"Ok," he replied, "But um. Well. You have done… that, before, I assume?"

"Had sex?"

"Yeah," he said, blushing.

"Yeah."

"With men, I guess?"

"Yes," I said laughing, "I thought we were past that."

He stared at me for a minute, and then looked away again. "I wouldn't know what to do," he said.

"I could show you, you know," I said, "but there's no pressure. You don't have to do anything if you're not comfortable with it."

"It's not… I mean… It's more that I'm afraid it would be bad. Like, you'd think I was stupid, or something."

I laughed, and leaned down to kiss him.

"If you don't do something for the first time, then you'll never do it. I promise I won't think you're stupid."

He smiled, and pulled me against him.