At school, we didn’t look like best friends.
I had my crowd. Jocks. Teammates. The guys who slapped my back in the hallway and talked about Friday night games and who was throwing what party.
Keaton had his. Black clothes, chipped dark polish. Kids who rolled their eyes at everything and didn’t care if a teacher hated them. Kids who leaned into being the ones everyone whispered about.
We didn’t sit together at lunch. We didn’t walk the same hallways on purpose. We avoided doing the obvious things that would’ve made people point and ask questions, because people always asked questions, and questions always turned into rumors, and rumors always turned into somebody deciding they had the right to judge.
But once we were home, once school was over, and the doors were shut, and the streetlights came on, it was just us.
Every chance we got.
My room. His window taps. Controllers on my bed.
No one knew we’d been almost inseparable since we were ten. No one knew he showed up when his house fell into chaos, or that I always opened the window without asking why, or that half the time we didn’t even talk about what happened next door—we just played until he felt better.
“And I’ve never seen you kiss anybody,” I added, keeping my voice low because it also seemed stupid to pretend I hadn’t noticed.
“That’s different.”
“How?” I asked.
“Because I don’t date,” he replied.
“Neither do I,” I shot back.
He set the controller down. “So tell me. You’re not interested in her, or not interested in girls?”
My pulse hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat. “I don’t know. I’ve never wanted to kiss a girl,” I admitted.
Keaton paused for a beat. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
I let out a shaky breath. “Tell you what? That I’m not what people expect, and I don’t know what that makes me?”
His gaze fixed on mine. “It makes you who you are.”
I snorted. “That’s not how high school works.”
His laugh was sharp. “No shit.” Silence filled the room for several moments before he whispered, “I think about guys.”
My breath caught, but I didn’t look away. “Me too.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth, then snapped back up. He shifted on the carpet, scooting closer, careful enough to stop if I asked him to. “Rowan,” he murmured.
“What?” I asked, my voice breathless.
He swallowed. “You ever think about us?”
My throat went dry. “Yeah, sometimes.”
He leaned in slowly, and I leaned over at the same time because my body was finished waiting for my brain to be brave.
Our mouths met, and our tongues slid past each other’s lips.
The kiss wasn’t smooth. It was hesitant for a beat before his hand slid up to the back of my neck. He made a quiet sound against my lips. I pulled back, my heart still pounding. He stayed close, his lips parted and his eyes wide open.
“We shouldn’t,” I whispered, even though I didn’t want to stop.
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Don’t.”
