2. Before
I almost kissed him.
Henry, my oldest friend.
The way he keeps looking at me is not like how Talon or Toby look at me. No, it’s like he sees me, like he can see right into my soul and see what I’ve only had the guts to tell my parents.
When I told them, mom just nodded, her strawberry blonde hair gently blowing in the wind with a knowing smile, and my dad just looked at his wife with awe.
“You knew.” I accused, leaning back in the garden chair and blowing out all of the pent-up air in my lungs.
She lifted one shoulder, and her smile widened. Her gray eyes bright with tears. “A mother always knows.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“Oh, honey,” she leaned forward, placing her manicured hand on my knee, “I wanted you to trust us with this on your time.”
I didn’t know what to say. Honestly, I thought telling them would be hard, that I would have to defend myself and my choice, but they both made me feel loved and cherished as I am.
“Son, your mother and I will always love and support you, no matter what. And the person who’s lucky enough to catch your heart? Well, we’ll love them too.”
“Well… okay.” I eyed the two of them as my father kissed my mother’s cheek, and we continued our dinner. It wasn’t when I planned to come out. It just felt right, and I was tired of trying to hide it when I had no reason to.
I really like Henry. He’s kind, and far more even keel than any of us. I shouldn’t even entertain the idea of liking him, he’s my best friend. It’s just… I’m pretty sure he likes me in the same way I like him, but he hasn’t said anything to any of us, and I don’t want to assume.
Then again, I haven’t said anything about my sexual preferences to any of them either. I don’t really see a need to, other than simply wanting them to know me.
All of me.
I should tell Henry.
I know even if he doesn’t feel the same way, he wouldn’t tell a soul if I asked him not to. It’s just who he is.
Rolling out my sleeping bag, I think about how it would have felt, to have our first kiss under the stars. The cold air wrapped around us as the stars shone down.
It would have been epic.
The zipper on the tent opens, and in he steps. When he looks up and spots me, he stops. His warm brown eyes look dark without the sun to bring out the greens and yellows. He looks almost terrified. I take a step toward him, and he steps out of the tent back into the night.
I pause, unsure of what I did to make him flee. I turn back to my sleeping bag, gripped tight in my fist, and look back at the hanging piece of nylon separating us.
“Is everything okay?” I ask from where I’m standing. I know he’ll hear me, but I’m suddenly afraid that he won’t answer.
My chest pulls tight, worry gnawing at my nerves when he opens the flap, steps in, and zips it up behind him without a word. The blanket he sat on outside is folded in his arms as he looks around the limited space and turns toward his bag.
He doesn’t respond as he rolls out his own sleeping bag and covers it with the comforter I ribbed him about, along with the fan that he angles to blow on his head. The whirr of the blades is the only noise other than the sounds of nature outside of the tent.
“Henry?” I ask as he scoots into the bag and zips himself inside, reaching his lanky arms out and pulling the comforter up to his chin. I can tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek by how he purses his lips. “Are you okay?”
I’ve got the lantern on, but it doesn’t have enough light for me to see him fully. I can only see the side of his face. It looks wet, like he might have been crying. His eyes pop open, and I move to sit beside him on top of my sleeping bag.
“What if I– Never mind,” he grumbles miserably. His mouth opens and closes a few more times before he finally spits out, “What if I told you something that I can’t take back?” His voice breaks a little, and my throat dries up.
“Like what?” My heart breaks for my best friend, seeing him agonizing over something he’s worried about telling me . He looks away and sniffles into the comforter, wiping his eyes and nose on the fluffy blue material. I don’t prod. If he’s scared it will only make it worse, so I simply sit there, waiting.
“I–” He inhales a shaky breath, blows it out hard, and then tries again. “I’m gay, Banks.”
His voice sounds so small, something unlike I’ve ever heard. He’s always been quiet and gentle, but he sounds… scared. The way he said my name, like it’s something worth holding on to like it’s precious, makes my ribs shatter apart under my skin as he continues.
“And I’m pretty certain I’ve got my sights set on someone who could never feel the same.” He finishes in a rush.
His confession makes my heart stall in my chest, my stomach feels full of lead and my skin prickles in painful waves. How could anyone not fall in love with Henry Forbes? The idea is laughable, and I’m so caught up in my own head at the ridiculous idea that I don’t notice how upset he’s become in my silence.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he’s sobbing now, trying and failing to whisper to keep himself contained. “Actually, yeah, don’t say anything.”
“Henry–” I start.
“Please, Banks, I can’t take the teasing, at least not right now.”
“But–”
“ Please .”
“Henry, listen to me for a goddamn second!” I hiss between my clenched teeth. My eyes scrunched tightly so I can keep my heartbreak bottled inside. When I open my eyes, his are trained on me, open and vulnerable, and fucking damn it, I want to crush my lips to his. “I was going to say that doesn’t change anything between us. You’re still my best friend.”
His eyes start to water again, and I get the feeling I said the wrong thing.
“Okay,” that one word comes out more broken than I’ve ever heard, and tears fall from his eyes rapidly, way faster than before.
“Why are you crying? Did you want me to hate you?” I’m confused, heartbroken, and… nervous.
He shakes his head and rolls over onto his side, his shoulders shake with the force of his tears and I can’t just sit by to watch him implode.
I need to fix this…
How do I fucking fix this?
“Henry, please, tell me what you want me to say, I’m sorry if I didn’t–”
“I want you to tell me you like me as much as I like you.”
His words play on repeat in my head for an embarrassingly long time as I simply stare at him with wide eyes.
He couldn’t mean… no.
He doesn’t… me?
Even his laugh is sad when he mutters, “Yeah, you.”
I must have been talking out loud, “Henry…” I didn’t know it was possible to feel so many emotions at one time. To feel like you’re flying one moment then drowning the next.
“Forget it, okay,” he murmurs, “I shouldn’t–”
“You should,” I interrupt, gently placing my hand on his shoulder, “Henry, look at me. Please?”
After what feels like forever, he turns over and sits up, running his hands below his eyes to catch what's left of his tears before looking at me.
“I do like you, Henry,” the confession feels good, perfect even. Especially when his eyes widen and his eyebrows disappear behind his dark curls. “Way more than friendship.”
His chest rises on a double breath, and I raise my hand to brush a curl out of his eyes, cupping his cheek as I lean in enough that I pray to God he picks up on what I’m about to do and that it’s okay.
My eyes drop to his parted lips before slowly moving back up to his eyes in a silent plea, and neither of us is breathing in this moment. He gives me the tiniest of nods, and slowly, I close the distance between us, giving him plenty of time to back out if this isn’t what he wants.
When he doesn’t move, and our lips meet, my fingers tighten on his cheek, and my pulse skyrockets. His lips are as soft as I imagined, sparks ignite in my stomach, and I swear I can see stars.
I pull back, enough to catch my breath and make sure that he’s okay, that he’s not internally freaking out and wishing he wouldn’t have just done that with me.
“Do that again, please,” he whispers into my mouth, not even opening his eyes.
The request makes my toes curl. So I do, I kiss him again.
This time, he wiggles out of his sleeping bag to wrap his arms around my neck, pulling me closer as our lips tentatively explore. I’ve kissed a few people, but nothing has ever felt like this, not even close.
Our noses brush as we follow the rhythm our bodies make, until we’re both breathless and staring at one another as if we’re truly seeing the other for the first time.
“I haven’t told anyone else that I’m gay, Banks,” Henry blushes, “but I want to.”
“I’ve only told my parents that I’m bisexual,” I admit because it feels like the right moment.
“Do you think we can keep this between us until I tell my Dad?” His eyes dart to his lap as if he’s ashamed that he hasn’t told him.
“I’ll wait however long it takes, Fancy. As long as you keep kissing me like that.” I tell him, and he smiles brighter than I’ve ever seen him smile.
“Deal.”