It was Lydia who opened the door for Carter, on Saturday.

She inspected him from top to bottom with a sweeping appreciative glance, smiling just before her brother pushed her out of the way. Carter grinned as Johnny came into view.

"Hey."

"Hey," Carter replied.

"You look nice," Lydia mused, as Carter stepped inside.

He let out a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Thanks."

Lydia eyed him knowingly. "I wonder who you're trying to impress."

Carter laughed awkwardly. He wasn't trying to impress anyone. It's not like he had dressed up or anything. Maybe he'd made sure his best pair of jeans would be clean for this particular night, and he had worn his only polo shirt—the navy-blue one that fit nicely around the shoulders. But he hadn't done much to his hair and he had even stopped himself from putting on cologne, because he didn't want to look like he was trying too hard. Or smell like it.

"Leave him alone," Johnny chided, closing the door.

Lydia shot him a coy, doe-eyed look. "It was an innocent question."

"From you? If only."

Lydia faked an offended gasp and Johnny shooed her off to the living room.

Carter turned to look at Johnny. "Where are your parents?"

Johnny smiled, stepping forward. "Inside," he answered vaguely.

"I should go say hi."

Johnny nodded in agreement, but his hands moved up to tug at Carter's collar. Carter couldn't deny him the stolen kiss that followed. Which wasn't so much stolen as it was willingly given.

"You do look nice," Johnny murmured against Carter's lips. His hands slipped up and over Carter's shoulders.

Carter was beginning to enjoy Johnny's fixation with his shoulders. And maybe he knew how this particular shirt hugged his frame too.

He wasn't trying to impress anyone, but it didn't hurt to cause a good impression. Look clean and presentable for the parents, and tug on just the right strings with Johnny.

"You look good too," Carter said through a smile.

Johnny rolled his eyes and Carter put a stop to it by locking their lips in a chaste kiss.

"You do," he asserted, relishing in the way Johnny seemed to fight a smile.

"Parrish."

Carter turned around, feeling Johnny's hands slip away from him. "Sir," he said, stepping forward. "Good evening."

Coach Mason returned his greeting with a nod. "Wanna come in?"

"Sure."

"Diane is in the kitchen," Coach said, as Carter followed him to the living room. "Dinner is almost ready though."

"Should I help with anything?" Carter asked.

"Just take a seat at the table, I'll help Diane bring the food," the man said, before disappearing toward the kitchen.

Lydia walked past her brother and around the dinner table to take a seat. Carter looked at Johnny as he pulled a chair across the table, and the other boy shot him a reassuring smile.

"You can sit here," Johnny said, touching the chair to his side, opposite Lydia.

Carter smiled thankfully.

Once he sat down, Johnny's hand found his knee with a gentle touch as he leaned in to whisper close to his ear, "Relax. My parents already sort of worship you."

The smile Carter gave him after that was slightly weaker.

He saw Coach Mason every day. In fact, Carter knew the man longer than he knew his son, and his wife had nothing but nice, welcoming words to offer him on the short and few occasions they had met. Still, he was nervous. He felt like there was something for him to prove.

"Hello, Carter," Mrs Mason greeted cheerfully as she walked into the room with a large serving tray in her kitchen-gloved hands. "It's lovely to see you again."

Carter smiled politely. "Thank you for having me.

Coach Mason came in behind his wife, holding a salad bowl in one hand and another with mashed potatoes in the other.

"I hope you like meatloaf," Mrs Mason said, setting the tray down on the table. "Johnny said you do."

"Mom, I said probably," Johnny mumbled.

Carter smiled again. "It smells really good, Mrs Mason."

His words seemed to please Johnny's mother. She flashed him a contented grin as she sat down next to her daughter and said, "How kind of you."

"Isn't it just?" Lydia remarked.

Johnny jerked in his seat and Lydia yelped with a little jump immediately after, as his foot probably collided with her leg.

"Behave," Coach Mason reproached, pulling the chair at the head of the table.

Meanwhile, his wife was already handing out plates with generous helpings of food. Carter was sure to smile in polite gratitude once he was given his. Johnny's hand hovered on his knee until everyone was finally served. Carter missed his touch when it was gone.

"I hope you all like it," Johnny's mom said before her first bite.

"It's great, Mrs Mason."

"I don't know. Might be a bit too dry for my taste," Lydia said in tone of mock critique.

Johnny rolled his eyes. "You eat what you're given until you learn to cook."

Lydia scoffed. "Like you can cook." She turned to Carter, with an impish smile. "Hope you know at least how to boil an egg, because that one is hopeless in the kitchen."

"Only because you refuse to learn," Mrs Mason pointed out. "I told you I'd love to teach you both how to cook if you just asked. Kevin did."

"Of course. The blessed son," Johnny delivered dryly.

"Do you cook, Carter?" Mrs Mason asked, ignoring her youngest son's comment.

"Uhm, not lately," Carter answered honestly. "Tony kinda likes to be the king of his own kitchen."

"Did you cook before?" Johnny's mother asked curiously.

"I used to make dinner a lot. My mom worked long hours and came home late." 

"Uh, what do you know. He does cook," Lydia said. "Add that to the Mr Perfect list," she finished with a coy smile.

Johnny shot her a silent glare jerking slightly in place, just before Lydia shrieked.

"Ow—that one hurt a lot more!"

"Johnny, stop kicking your sister. Lydia, stop taunting him," Coach Mason intervened.

It was both familiar and awfully foreign to Carter. In another place, at another time, Coach might have used the exact same tone to reprimand a couple of players at school. But at that moment, in that house, that was a fatherly tone meant to discipline his children. It was a line so fine, Carter couldn't really tell how he felt about it.

"Daddy," Lydia said, almost like a whine. As though, unlike the football players in Carter's team, she wasn't used to be reprimanded by Coach. The man did give her a look that stopped her before she could say another word.

Pale blue eyes settled on Carter then, and Coach Mason cleared his throat.

"Diane and I are happy to receive you in our home, Carter, but there is a conversation I'd like to have."

Slowly, Carter put down his utensils. He met Coach's gaze, as calmly as he could.

"We just sat down," Johnny complained. "Can't you give it a minute?"

Coach's look said no. He cleared his throat again.

"I understand you two are getting serious about your relationship, and I also know it's natural for you to want to take certain steps."

Carter couldn't stop himself from looking at Johnny. The other boy winced, hiding his face in his hands.

"He saw your picture on my phone," Johnny mumbled.

"Oh." Carter felt heat rise to his face and bit his lip, gripping his napkin in his fist. He forced himself to look back at Johnny's dad.

"It's okay, I was your age once too," Coach started again, eyebrows knitting together the same way they did whenever he was about to deliver an important judgement on the field. "But I want to be clear that my son needs to be respected. I need to trust whoever he chooses to be with gives him that respect."

"Dad, come on, he gets it," Johnny complained.

Coach raised a hand to quiet Johnny. "Let me finish." 

Carter gulped, before Coach could continue.

"I know how teenage boys think these days, I raised two and taught hundred of you over the years. I know when you get excited safety isn't always the first thing on your mind—" Johnny's eyes widened incredulously, "—but it's important you know how to be cautious."

"This is so painful to watch," Lydia murmured, sending an apologetic glance at her brother.

"I'm almost done," Coach declared. 

Carter pressed his lips together.

Coach cleared his throat again, continuing with what really started to feel like a semi-practiced speech. "I also need you to understand that no means no, and there's no need to rush into anything. You're young and you have many years ahead of you. There's time to have all the experiences you want to have."

Johnny sat up in his seat suddenly. "Dad, please," he implored.

"I'm done." Coach lifted both hands in surrender.

"Thank God," Lydia blurted loudly.

Coach propped his elbows up on the table, lacing his fingers in front of his face. "I want to hear what Carter has to say, now."

"No," Johnny interjected firmly. "Dad, don't do this to him," he pleaded.

Coach shot his son a serious look. "If you don't think he can handle talking about his intentions with you at my table, then I don't think you should be together."

Johnny's lips parted slightly and, for a couple of seconds, it seemed as though he was struggling to find words to voice his disbelief. Carter placed a hand on Johnny's thigh under the table. He took a slow, steady breath in. He could still feel the heat on his face, as he spoke next.

"I understand your concerns, sir," he started quietly, trying not to think about the three extra pairs of eyes on him. He continued evenly. "I want you to know I do respect your son. A lot. And I care about him too. I'd never want to make him feel uncomfortable or unsafe. Only happy. Always."

Coach blinked a couple of times in silence. Carter twisted the napkin in his fist nervously, as he watched the man glance at his wife briefly. Johnny's mom smiled tamely.

"That was a good answer," Coach concluded, with the same tone he used to praise Carter after a good game. "Well done, Parrish."

The well-known sense of accomplishment that usually embraced Carter after hearing those words came accompanied by an unexpected, yet welcomed, sense of relief. Johnny gave him a pleased little smile as everyone resumed eating.

Dinner proceeded smoothly after that. Once it was over, Johnny stood from the table, taking Carter's hand to lead him upstairs.

Just as their feet touched the first step, Coach's voice demanded, "Keep your door open."

Johnny rolled his eyes, pulling Carter behind him into his room. He closed the door almost all the way, stopping only before the latch could click shut. Carter bit back a smile as Johnny turned to face him.

"I'm really sorry," he winced.

Carter laughed softly, leaning against Johnny's desk. "It's fine."

And it was. Carter might have been uneasy, because of the context of his relationship with Coach Mason, but it hadn't been so bad. Mel's dad had grilled him for hours in a one-on-one conversation. Mel scolded Mr Jones for it afterwards, but Carter still had to sit through it.

Johnny walked to stand right in front of him.

"It's good your dad cares," Carter said, hooking his index finger on the left front pocket of Johnny's jeans to tug him an inch closer.

Johnny rolled his eyes at that. "Right," he muttered. "You should have seen the talk he gave me. It was basically my dad tripping over his words for thirty minutes before he grumbled the internet isn't always reliable and it's important to trust the adults in your life when you have doubts—" Johnny lowered his voice to mock-mimic his father's, "—and that was that."

"So, he didn't actually give you the talk?"

Johnny smiled, tracing a finger down the three buttons descending from the collar of Carter's polo shirt. "Nope," he popped the 'p'. "I ended up googling it all, ironically."

Carter laughed, slipping his hands across the side of Johnny's hips. Johnny stepped closer until they stood, legs intercalated with each other and Johnny's arms over Carter's shoulders.

"Did your mom give you 'the talk'?" Johnny asked curiously.

Carter tilted his head slightly. "Not exactly," he said. "Because it was just the two of us for the longest time, she never actually imposed a conversation on me. She just kind of encouraged me and trusted me to talk to her and ask whatever I felt I needed to."

"And did you?"

"Yeah, actually," Carter admitted.

"Really? Like, everything?"

"Kinda," Carter said. "I asked her for help with buying condoms and she made sure I knew how to use them, no questions asked." He tried a hesitant look at Johnny. "I even told her when I lost my virginity," he confessed. Johnny pulled back a little, in surprise. Carter smiled. "I know that sounds a little weird, but I always tell my mom everything. Or, I guess... almost everything."

Understanding took over Johnny's features.

"You know my dad..." Johnny started, trailing off. "You know he would never mention anything to your family or anything, before you're ready."

"I know," Carter assured him. "But I think I might tell them soon," he added quietly.

Johnny looked taken aback. "Really? You're not doing that because you think that's what I want, right? I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything before you're ready."

Carter quieted him by sliding his arms around his waist, linking his hands together on the small of Johnny's back.

"I know that, and it's not because of you," Carter told him through a smile. "It's because of me. I'll have to tell them some day. I stressed over telling Seth and Mel so much and it turned out to be for nothing." He shrugged. "And I want people to know, eventually. I know it probably sounds cheesy, but I like walking around holding hands with someone. And I want to be able to hold your hand in public, and kiss you, and show people that I like you."

Johnny's eyes warmed with something he seemed to be trying less and less to mask the more time he spent with Carter.

"Sometimes, I can't tell if you're actually real or just a really awesome dream."

Carter laughed. He brought one hand up from Johnny's back to tangle up in his hair. Gently, he cupped Johnny's chin in his fingers to level their eyes. They leaned in synchronously, meeting halfway in the short distance left between them. Their lips fell into a sweet, familiar rhythm.

They parted for air at some point, foreheads pressed together.

"I shouldn't like it so much, when you say corny stuff," Johnny whispered.

"You shouldn't make me feel so much like saying corny stuff," Carter countered.

Johnny laughed and Carter pulled back, staring at the warm glow in his eyes, lips parted, hoping Johnny would come back in for another kiss. And he did. Carter melted into that one just as promptly as he had before, as he suspected he always would.

They didn't peel away from each other until there was a light knock on the door and Coach came in. Johnny stepped away from Carter's arms to face his dad.

"Are you staying the night, Carter?" Coach asked. "We can get Kevin's room ready for you."

Carter pulled away from Johnny's desk. "No, sir. I already texted my mom to tell her I'll be home soon."

"I can drive you," Johnny offered.

"Actually, I will," Coach said.

"Then, I'll come along," Johnny concluded.

"No," his dad asserted. "Go help with the dishes."

Johnny frowned. "But—"

"Johnny."

It was a one-worded warning, but it was all Johnny needed to hear. He shot Carter a begrudged look.

Carter smiled. "It's cool. I'll text you later."

Just before he could leave, and without giving himself any thinking time, Carter rested one hand on Johnny's arm and kissed his cheek.

He followed Coach downstairs and bid Mrs Mason and Lydia goodbye with a polite smile. It wasn't his first time getting into Coach's car, but he wasn't exactly comfortable as he fastened the seat-belt. Fortunately, it was a short drive.

"Thanks for the ride, sir," he said, clicking his seat-belt loose as they stopped in front of the Santoros' house.

"Before you go, Parrish."

Carter stopped moving.

"There's something else I want to tell you, just the two of us."

Carter lowered his hand from the door handle slowly, setting it on his lap to face Coach. The man kept his hands on the steering wheel as he turned to Carter.

"I can tell my son likes you," he started. "And I want you to know the respect I had for you before hasn't changed. I know you're probably dealing with some personal stuff with everything that's going on." His eyes shifted out the window to Carter's house before they settled back on him. "Although it's not my role to intrude, I thought I'd let you know that, if you ever need anything, we're here, Diane and I. You can come to us."

Carter didn't say anything at first. This speech wasn't entirely foreign to him. This man—rugged, and honest, and considerate—was not a stranger to him. 

Carter had let his insecurities and personal doubts cloud his view of everything lately, especially where he stood with Coach Mason. He had been questioning every aspect of his life, but everyone he had always thought he knew in a certain way had kept proving to him that they hadn't changed, even if Carter himself felt he had.

"Thank you, sir."

Coach nodded, seeming satisfied with their interaction.

"Make no mistake, though." He shot Carter a serious look. "If you break my son's heart, I won't even care that you're also my student."

Carter laughed, despite himself.

"Yes, sir." He nodded. "I promise, that's the last thing I want to do."

"Good," Coach Mason said. "Now, you should go. It looks like your family waited up for you."

Carter looked out the window to see almost every single window in the house lit up. He grinned, turning back to Coach.

"No, that's just the Santoros. They... don't really sleep. Ever."

Coach laughed. "They're a fun bunch, aren't they," he mused, shaking his head. "Can't imagine living with them."

Carter cocked his head. "It's never boring," he admitted.

"I bet," Coach said. "They have this tradition to rent a cabin in the Everglades during spring break, escape the Miami madness... We went with them a couple of times, back when my oldest used to hang out with their oldest. It was never boring, not for a single moment."

Carter smiled. "Yeah, well... That's the Santoros. Allergic to boredom and sleeping in."

***

How awkward was that boyfriend speech? Did you feel sorry for Carter? 

And what about that little moment between Johnny and Carter after that? Do you think he'll come out to his family?

Thanks so much for reading so far, hope you'll stay with me until the end!