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He was eating a breakfast burrito from a foiled wrapper, tearing off bites and somehow making it seem both sensual and casual at the same time.

And he wasn’t alone.

There was a boy sitting across from him. One of the kids I remembered from the first day but didn’t remember enough for him to be from my group. Or Cindy’s.

I could tell from the kid’s posture he was excited to be in Alvin’s presence. At the very least, he was comfortable there. I knew that because it was the way I used to feel back when I couldn’t imagine a world without my best friend in it.

Trevor, my mind supplied, because I’d heard someone call him that at some point. Or maybe I just decided his name was Trevor because he looked like a Trevor.

Alvin glanced over when I stopped. “Well, look who finally decided to wake up. Why you sweating like you’re late to your own funeral, D’Angelo?”

My body should have relaxed at the sound of his voice. This was part of our routine after all. Alvin’s clever comments, my not-so-clever rebuttals. It didn’t. My brain was still scrambling to rationalize my irrational thoughts and my heart was still trying to figure out what it was feeling.

And then my panic turned into something I could understand and cling on to. Something I recognized. Something just as irrational but simpler for me to justify to myself.

Anger.

The truth was… Alvin had never gone anywhere. Not back then. Not now. He hadn’t disappeared. I had. And I was mad at myself about it, but Alvin was always the easier target.

Almost like he begged me for it. As fucked up as that sounded. But it also sounded like it made perfect sense to someone who was taught that love hurt, and the more it hurt, the more it loved you. And I’d been taught that same thing in a different way, because it hurt to love Alvin more than I’d ever admit.

He kept his eyes on me. Trevor kept his eyes on me too for a different reason entirely…

“I thought you were gone,” I huffed.

Alvin blinked once, then smiled because I’d offered him entertainment. “Gone where? Into hiding? Nope, not hiding. Just found a secret stash of breakfast burritos. I’m right here, babe.”

Trevor shifted in his seat, eager to be part of it or eager to protect Alvin. I couldn’t tell which. “We, uh, we were just having breakfast a little early, Mr. D’Angelo.”

Alvin grinned. “See? No atrocities committed, other than that hair style.” He twirled a finger in my direction. “Just a little harmless breakfast.”

My face burned. Heat crawled up my neck, and I could feel that familiar shame mix with the panic mix with the anger until I didn’t know what I was anymore, just that I wasn’t fine.

I should have apologized. I should have backed off. I should have swallowed whatever I was feeling and let it dissolve. Just like Alvin should have been in the top bunk this morning. And he wasn’t.

I shook my head and stepped towards the bench. My hand reaching for the burrito before I could stop it. My fingers finding the wrapper and my brain settling on Alvin’s favorite flavor of petty.

His eyes widened, only briefly, and then his smile did the same. “You’re joking,” he said. “You’re seriously stealing my breakfast-found treasure like you’re a fucking raccoon?”

I didn’t answer him as I yanked the burrito out of his grip. The movement rougher than needed for something that consisted of spongy egg and solidified cheese. Trevor made an awkward noise, as if he were trying to decide whether this was funny or a crime in the making.

Alvin leaned forward, attempting to wrestle his breakfast out of my hand, but I was already pulling away. “Oh my God!” He laughed, sounding pleased and mean in the same breath. “Darius. You could’ve just asked me where I was!”

I stomped away.

But not before he yelled out towards my back, “You want my cooties, babe? All you have to do is ask like a good boy.”

My flip-flops slapped the ground with each step I took in the opposite direction. My thoughts circling back to that kiss from five years ago. The way I couldn’t meet Alvin’s eyes afterwards. The way I tried to act normal while my body betrayed me every time he got too close. The way, later, I convinced myself that it was disgust that made me pull away.

I gripped the stolen burrito hard enough to squeeze the insides out the top.

I didn’t even like breakfast burritos that much. Not really. It wasn’t about hunger though. It was about taking something—anything—so the moment didn’t belong to him anymore. So that scared little boy who woke up and thought his best friend was missing didn’t belong to him anymore.

Behind me, I could hear Alvin’s voice again, cutting through the camp noise. “Enjoy my burrito, DeeDee!” he called out. “And try not to choke on it. Unless you’re into that…”

My pace didn’t slow. My ears burned. The spongy eggs tasted like ash on my tongue. And all I could think was: I was worried.

I was worried, and just like so many nights before, my fear made me small, turned me into a little kid. Whose voice was deeper but still shrunk in on himself when he was afraid. Who snatched breakfast burritos instead of cookies and pushed his best friend away instead of pulling him closer.