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  The next day, when I met Ian in the woods, he was sitting by his tree off of the trail. I want you to teach me to fight. I had commanded him angrily, kicking dirt at him. Ian pursed his lips and blew over his sketchpad, blowing away dirt. He sketched for a few more moments, then looked up at me, his hand still against the sketchpad. Frustrated and angry? He asked, his head cocked to the side. Hell yes, I am, you fucking asshole. He nodded. Punch that tree right there. Hard as you can. He flicked his head towards a tree with a thick-trunk, covered in jagged bark, a yard away from me.

  What?!? I seethed down at him. If you punch that tree as hard as you can, I’ll teach you to fight if you want. Without thinking, I spun towards the tree. I threw my fist out with all of my might. My knuckles connected with the tree trunk. Immediately, overwhelming pain shot through my fingers, throughout my hand, and up my forearm, settling in my bicep. Fuck! I screamed. I broke my fucking hand! Fuck! Fuck!

  Ian set his sketchpad down calmly and stood. I was dancing around, shaking my fist, tears welling up in my eyes. Ian took my hand in his and looked at it. It’s not broken, Mike. He said. I stopped flailing around, but I was still shifting from foot to foot as he held my hand. I was aroused. And Ian would have had to have been blind to not notice. Ian looked up at me, then bent his head down and kissed my knuckles. They were shredded and starting to seep blood. He didn’t care. Do you think you hurt the tree? I frowned at him, confused. Did it learn a lesson? He cocked an eyebrow at me.

  I just stared at him. Or do you think that, maybe, if it was a person, it would just be humiliated? What do you think trees feel? Do you think they can feel degraded? I felt my anger going away. Do you think anything that is attacked really understands what is happening? Do you think you’d feel better if the tree felt like your hand and you were fine? Do you want to make people physically feel how you feel inside?

  I looked down.

  Ian turned my hand over and opened it. I hissed. He bent down and kissed the palm of my hand gently.

  I don’t want to learn to fight anymore. I whispered.

  I know. He nodded before kissing each of my fingertips. Then his lips were on my wrist. The inside of my forearm. The inner curve of my elbow. I was so aroused. He kissed my bicep. His fingers found the hem of my shirt and raised it. His lips found my collar bone. My left pec. Then my right. The middle of my chest. He bent and his lips found my stomach. And my whole body jerked as I released in my shorts.

  Ian pulled me into a hug as my body spasmed over and over, but he held on tightly, letting me jerk and twist in his arms. It seemed to go on forever. I had never orgasmed so hard or for so long when I had had sex with Catherine. When I finally stopped spasming, and my cheeks were in full blush, Ian raised his head to my ear and whispered. Showing kindness is a lot better way to deal with frustration and anger than hitting something. Nobody—nothing—should have to feel the way you feel right now.

  He didn’t tease me for blowing a load in my pants from merely having him kiss me. He hadn’t even touched me in a way that was overtly sexual—but he brought me to orgasm in seconds with a few simple kisses. Not the kiss he had promised me—these kisses were something else.

  I don’t feel that way anymore. I had said.

  I don’t want you to ever feel that way. He whispered in my ear again. I’m sorry if Catherine just frustrated you. That wasn’t what I intended.

  She isn’t you. I whispered back.

  His lips kissed the lobe of my ear. I didn’t orgasm again, but my body involuntarily jerked.

  I love you. I sighed.

  I believe you. He replied and hugged me tighter.

  The last few weeks of summer, I didn’t go into the woods with Catherine anymore. I had made a promise to myself. Pledged my fidelity to one person. And I stuck by it. Ian and I did more fishing, more star gazing, more camping, more sketching, a lot more laughing. And anytime I felt angry or frustrated, he kissed his way up my arm and over my chest and down my stomach. The result was always the same. But I was never allowed to touch him like that. To bury my face in his chest and stomach, to inhale his scent, to feel his skin under my lips.

  At the end of summer, we stood in the creek at midnight and watched the bats hunting for their dinner again. We held hands again. My knuckles were mostly healed. Ian let me hug him when the bats were done searching out food and his hands rested in the valley of my back. Lower. I had whispered. He acquiesced, trailing his fingers down the light blonde hairs in the valley of my lower back. And then his hands settled on my ass under the water. It was the best ten seconds of my life.

  Then it was time to go our separate ways. But, of course, I trailed Ian home, watching him as he cut his way through the dark of his bad neighborhood. He knew I was there, somewhere behind him. And I knew that he knew. I hid behind the same tree as he walked up into his yard. He had barely set foot on his property when the front door of his house swung open violently. His dad charged from the inside of the house, down the porch steps, and right at Ian. I cringed.

  Ian’s father was on the ground before I even saw it happen. And he wasn’t moving. Ian’s head raised ever so slightly as he stood there. I don’t break my promises to you, Mike. He said it just loud enough that I could make it out. His voice had a quiver to it. Then he went in his house and closed the door. I knew, without being able to hear it, that he had latched and locked the door tightly. I waited around just long enough to make sure that his father moved and wasn’t dead. But it was more to make sure that Ian wouldn’t be in trouble. It was the only reason that I cared if his father was alive or not.

  The following Monday, it was the first time that I saw Ian walk down the main hall of the high school, not a single bruise in sight. When he passed me, he gave the smallest of nods and something akin to a smile. It made the remaining nine months of the school year somewhat tolerable.

  I didn’t try to find Ian after school or during school holidays or breaks. But we met halfway. Kind of. Sometimes, I’d look over Kevin’s shoulder at lunch, to Ian sitting by himself across the cafeteria. He’d look over at me for a few seconds, wiggle his eyebrows, then go back to his food. Sometimes, he’d stand from his table and reach upwards to stretch, exposing a sliver of his stomach. Then he’d look over at me blandly before going back to his food. A few times, when we passed in the hallway, his fingers would brush against mine. It wasn’t much—but it was so erotic.

  I found myself wishing that the lightest days of the year would arrive.

  Chapter 8

  Ian

  “Are you cold?” Mike asked as we sat there by the creek.

  “A little,” I said as I pulled my t-shirt back on.

  Mike wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into him. It wasn’t really cold. The breeze was warm early in summer and the water had still been fairly warm from having the sun beat down on it all day long. But it wasn’t my body that felt chilled. It was everything else. The last four years. Everything had brought this chill on—the loss of all of my warmth. And…I wanted Mike to hold me if I was being totally honest with myself.

  My warmth would return.

  In time.

  I just had to be more patient than it.

  “I love you,” Mike whispered against my ear.

  His breath was soft and warm against my ear.

  “I love you, too,” I said softly.

  Mike pulled back and stared at me, his arms still draped around me.

  “You heard me,” I stated evenly.

  “How long have you loved me?” Mike asked, his voice low.

  I turned my face to his.

  “Since you were worried about the squirrel being dead,” I replied. “Since I saw your heart.”

  Mike’s eyes closed, but the tears still seeped out and rolled down his cheeks as he held me.

  “When you asked me to be your friend,” I said. “And you were such a geek in a God’s body…I knew I loved you. Then, when I asked if you were gay and let you stare at me as I laid in the grass, I knew I
loved you. When you stood there and watched the bats with me and grabbed my hand, I knew I loved you. When you bandaged my cut. When you punched the tree. The wisteria. The real question is when didn’t I know I loved you?”

  “When didn’t you know?” He asked.

  “When I didn’t know you existed,” I said. “Once I knew you existed, well, there wasn’t a time I didn’t love you.”

  Mike was fully crying now as he held me.

  “Couldn’t you have just…once…forgotten about what being friends would have done to my reputation?” Mike breathed into my ear. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  It was all I could say.

  Nothing would take it back.

  Nothing changes the past.

  I knew that my choice to distance myself from Mike at school had been wrong.

  But how do you fix that?

  “I forgive you.” Mike sighed, his tears coming to a stop.

  “And when you are annoyingly able to see my heart, under all of this, I love you even more,” I said.

  “Can I please…touch you?” Mike placed his hand against my cheek and turned my face to look me in the eyes.

  I stared at him for several moments.

  “Yes.” I breathed out.

  Mike’s hands started to move.

  “But, first, I want you to see something.” I stopped him. “Please? You can touch me all you want afterward.”

  “Okay.”

  Mike didn’t ask me if that was a promise. Because I hadn’t broken a promise to him yet. Now that I had given him a kiss, he knew that everything I had ever promised had been done. It was almost midnight. It was the perfect time for what I wanted him to see.

  “Come on.” I stood and held my hand out to him.

  Mike used my hand to hoist himself up. I stripped my shirt off again and led us back out of the tree line and down the bank of the creek again. We shimmied down into the water and I led him to the middle of the creek. Now we could see the sky clearly between the two sides of the creek. I led him right to the middle of the creek, holding both of his hands. He smiled down at our hands as the water rippled around us.

  “Look up,” I said.

  Mike’s head tilted back. And his eyes grew wide. They actually looked green in this light.

  “It’s called the Full Strawberry Moon,” I said before tilting my head back to look up at the moon with him. “The Algonquins named it that to signal it as the time to gather ripe, wild strawberries. It’s also known as the Honey Moon, Mead Moon, and the Full Rose Moon. But…I like Full Strawberry Moon. It makes me think of summer. I got to spend time with you in summer. So, that’s my favorite. It’s also a blue moon tonight. A blue moon is the second full moon within a single calendar month. It only happens once or twice a year. Hence the once in a blue moon saying. People say that blue moons look bigger…some people even claim they look blue, and that’s where they got the name. But the moon is always greyish or white—only atmospheric conditions on Earth or an eclipse can make it look different colors. The moon is constant, unyielding. At least…for our lifetimes.”

  I stared up at the moon as I held Mike’s hands underneath the water’s surface.

  “It’s so bright.” Mike breathed out. “It’s almost as good at spotlighting you as the summer sun is.”

  I tilted my head down to look at him.

  “But I can see you perfectly no matter how much or how little light there is, Ian.” He said. “You were never your brother. Or your father. Or even your mother. You were the best kid in school. I see you, Ian. I’ve always been able to see you. You emit your own light.”

  I pulled on Mike’s hands, drawing him into me. As his body crashed into mine, I pressed my lips against his. His hands went to my face as mine went to his back. And, for once, without being prompted, they slid down to his ass.

  Chapter 9

  Mike

  Summer Before Senior Year

  When I got to the tree, just off of the trail—our tree—Ian wasn’t sitting there with his sketch pad. His sketchpad was there, but it was laid haphazardly next to the tree. The pages were fanned out. Panic immediately settled in my chest and I began spinning around, looking for him. Had I missed him at the creek? Was he in the field where the hay would be gathered? Had he stopped at the store? He was always waiting at the tree off of the trail on the last day of school so that our summer could begin. The sun was high in the sky, beating down as I spun in panic, looking for my best friend.

  “Up here, silly.”

  I jumped when his voice came from above me.

  I looked up to find Ian sitting on the branch of a tree. He was pushing a wad of paper against the trunk of the tree, focusing intently on whatever it was he was doing. Suddenly, he pulled the wad of paper away from the tree, smiled at the tree, then dropped the paper the fifteen feet to the ground. He started to shimmy down the tree, as deft at climbing a tree as a monkey. Finally, he jumped the last six feet to the ground and landed beside me. He looked up at the tree, smiling.

  “Um, what are you doing?” I laughed nervously.

  “I was sketching and a woodpecker chick fell out of its roost.” He said. “I used a blank sheet of paper to pick him up and take him back up. I wanted to keep as much of my scent off of him as much as possible so his mom doesn’t reject him. Though, I think that whole ‘birds and human scents’ thing is a myth. I think he’ll be okay.”

  I stared at my friend as he stared up at the tree, smiling widely.

  “Can I kiss you?” I asked without meaning to.

  His head tilted down to look at me.

  “No.” He cocked an eyebrow.

  “Okay.”

  “Are you going to ask again later?”

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Okay.”

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I still believe you.” He smiled widely.

  “You are insufferable.” I laughed loudly. “You are so utterly frustrating and annoying and…and…”

  “Arousing, isn’t it?” He glanced down.

  I sat down quickly. Ian didn’t tease me or smirk or even grin. He went over to the tree and sat down, scooping up his sketchpad in the process. He made a table out of his knees again and placed the pad against them. Charcoal in hand, he looked over at me.

  “What’s the biggest question you ask yourself each day?” He asked, his hand moving on the paper, but his eyes stayed on mine.

  “What?”

  “Every day.” He said again. “Do you ask yourself a particular question that enriches your life in some way? Like ‘what is the meaning of life’ or ‘is there a God’…something like that?”

  I swallowed hard, willing my erection away.

  “I guess I usually ask myself every day if I’m a good person,” I replied.

  He nodded.

  “What about you?”

  “I always ask myself if I had a magic wand, what would I do with it?” He said, his eyes moving down to his sketchpad. “Would I do good, or would I do evil?”

  I waited.

  “Have you answered it?”

  “Do you think you’re a good person?” He asked, not looking up.

  “No,” I said. “But I try harder every day.”

  “I think I would do good.” He said. “But I might be a little selfish. I might materialize a new family for myself. Or a new home. Or a car. Or the college of my dreams. Or…”

  I waited.

  “Or…what?” I urged him on.

  “Or, I’d make myself a better person so that I wouldn’t be so selfish.” He whispered it, not looking up.

  “You’re the best person I know.” I breathed out.

  “I’m not nearly good enough to you.” And he did look up. “I’m sorry I’m not everything you want, Mike.”

  I frowned.

  “You could be,” I whispered.

  He nodded.

  “Maybe.” He said. “Yes. Eventually. But not as I am. I�
��m…a mess. You know that, right?”

  I just looked at him.

  “One more year, Mike.” He said, his hand still moving. “That’s all I ask.”

  “Just one more?” I chewed at my cheek.

  “Yes.”

  I sat back, now that it was safe to do so, propping myself up with my hands, lounging before him.

  “Do you ever stare at me?” I asked.

  “All the time.”

  “I’ve never seen you do it.” I smiled. “Unless you’re sketching me.”

  “You are so blissfully unaware of everything going on around you.” He smiled back. “It’s easy to stare at you.”

  “Stare at me now,” I said lowly. “Set your sketchpad down. And look at me. Go over my entire body with your eyes. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Stare at me like I stare at you.”

  Ian slowly let his knees unbend until his legs were sticking straight out and then slid his sketchpad off of his lap. At first, he looked in my general direction, then his eyes went to the top of my head. Slowly, sensually, his eyes traveled downward, over my forehead, his eyes connecting with mine, then leaving to travel over my nose, over my lips, down my neck, to my chest, my abdomen, my crotch, my thighs, my knees, my shins, my feet. Then his eyes were back on mine.

  “Your erection is back.” He stated simply.

  “I don’t care if you don’t,” I replied.

  “It’s not bothering me.”

  “Do you want it to?”

  “Now who’s insufferable?” He laughed loudly.

  “I want to touch you.”

  “No.” He replied, bending his knees up to prop his sketchpad against them again. “That’s not the game we play.”

  “Please?” I groaned.

  Ian’s iceberg eyes flicked up to me and then back down as he started chewing on his bottom lip and his hand flew across his sketchpad. That was good enough for me. I rose to my knees, unconcerned with anything going on in my pants, and scooted over to kneel beside him. Ian was tense, but his hand didn’t stop moving on his sketchpad.