☆ Evan ☆

"Oh my god, Lex," Jay says as he slides his game piece—a tiny silver race car—on the Monopoly game board. He's landed on Lexa's properties four times in a row now, and wears an exasperated expression on his face. "You're cheating."

"I am not! You're just a sore loser," Lexa replies from across the table. Jay hands them a wad of paper money from his dwindling reserve, and then it's my turn.

"Cut us some slack," I say. "You've won at almost every board game so far."

They nod, leaning over to move their own game piece. We're sitting in the student council room, near the school's lobby. It's a small room with windows on either side, allowing me to see into the hallway. Since the eclipse doesn't fall on a regular club day, Ms. Crozier was busy hosting extra help sessions for her classes. Willow offered to let us stay here instead; she even brought lollipops with her, adding to the collection of food on the table.

Carrying a bracelet-making kit, Willow brings it over to Nicole, offering her the bright threads and lettered beads to match. The two of them laugh and braid the strings together. Dina and Peter are both positioned closest to the snacks. Peter reaches for a blue lollipop and unwraps it. It paints his tongue the same colour.

After a few more rounds, the game is finished with Lexa as its winner, and lunch is about to end.

I grab a lollipop as Lexa ponders over a plate of brownies with fudge, baked by Dina, and of which I have already eaten too many. I say, "For tonight, you can be temporary Vice President."

"I've got it," Lexa says and smiles. "I'm going to pick everyone up in my mom's minivan. Are you sure you can't come?"

"Yeah." I gulp down a breath. "I'm sure."

I am spared from having to explain when the bell rings. I sweep my backpack into my hands and head to class. Social studies passes quickly, and after that, I have my core French class. I'm learning at the leisurely speed of a turtle, but I have a few phrases mastered.

One sentence in particular, in fact. I just don't know if I have the capacity to speak it out loud.

☆ ☽ ☆

I hang off the side of the bed, with a pillow as cushioning under my side. The lamp illuminated by my side is the only source of light to combat the darkness living outside and inside my heart.

I reach for my phone and bring up Peter's contact for the thousandth time. My heart stirs with butterflies. It's twenty-five minutes and thirty-one seconds until nine o'clock, when the Astronomy Club is supposed to meet.

Swinging my legs onto the carpeted floor, I move towards the window. Ms. Crozier will be there, so I won't be able to stay for long, but I could drop by. I could make it seem like a coincidence, as if I was just on a run around the block, and I happened to be in the area.

I pull the curtains back. The water is still as glass. It shines metallic cobalt, dyed like blueberry-flavoured candy. The clouds are backed by the white hue of the moon as it slips out from behind the horizon.

My phone buzzes. Peter's name graces my lock screen photo of a dense forest, (I've changed it more than once since getting it, and I can't yet seem to decide on what to make it—but I have options).

Come down to the lobby, the message reads.

I follow his instructions. Nothing happens for nine seconds, but then a pair of headlights shine from the road. I can't quite see; I open the door to a whisper of gentle air.

Peter's car rests outside. He hops out onto the gravel and flashes me this smile—a fucking beautiful smile—and I can't help but return it.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask as he opens the backseat. Inside, he's packed a blanket and a telescope. "Are you even allowed to take that?"

"I'm going to bring it back when I'm done," Peter answers and hands the telescope to me. "The club isn't using it. We will be."

"But I can't get—"

"I know," he interrupts. "That's why I'm here. It's not the same without you there. I mean, you'll be able to see the moon, but..."

He trails off, looping around until he's reached the edge of the hotel's property. He leads me to a patio swing under the overhang, which rests on a patch of grass a short distance from the waterline.

"You don't have to do this. Really," I say, placing the telescope against the ground. He sets the blanket lengthwise against the swing, and it's not like I need it, since my face is burning up. In the light provided by the first-floor windows, I have to wonder if he can see it.

"How is it fair that you can't come on a club trip?" He lowers himself onto one side of the patio swing. It creaks as it moves, although the sound is faint like a worn floorboard. "You haven't been living at home for a while, so it shouldn't make sense for your parents to decide for you."

"Yeah, well..." I pause, sliding into the seat. I leave a considerable space between myself and Peter; not daring to broach it. "I'm not really free from them until I'm an adult, and even then, I can't get rid of it. I can't erase something that's already alive inside of me."

I drape my legs in front of me, pressing my hands into my shin. Peter turns towards the sky, at the veil of ink-stained black above our heads. Stars scatter like dust across the blaze of a wildfire.

"Maybe it's time to get used to freedom," Peter says.

"I should be used to it by now, but I'm not. It's just..." I sigh. "It's not simple."

He says, "It's not always plain and simple. I think the same thing. There's a lot that I didn't want to say at first."

He lets it hang between us. My heart thuds erratically—it skips a beat, or maybe two. "Do you want me to ask? If you're not... if you don't want to go there, we don't have to."

Peter shakes his head and sighs. "You've told me everything."

"I probably shouldn't have done that. I burdened you with a lot of goddamned trauma. That's stuff you shouldn't be worrying about. I guess, according to Suzanna, I've made you an anchor, and that's probably not a bad thing? But it could be."

He pauses, leaning back. The swing tugs backwards. "Yeah, about Suzanna... you know when I freaked out about exams, and even back in September... um, that's why I talk to her. I get anxious about socializing, and sometimes it sends me into a panic attack. I don't mention it a lot—not that I think you don't have to know—but that sometimes it's better not to bring it up."

The alarm that went off when I drove him home. "Oh, yeah. I didn't think it would be right to ask, rebellious phase or not."

"It's okay. I know I told you that lying wasn't working for you. It didn't work for me, either."

"This isn't a lie. That would mean you did a heinous thing, but this doesn't fit into that category. It's not even close," I tell him.

Peter smiles, softly. The corner of his lips twists, and he bites it. "Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just—you're being very casual about it. It's new." He grabs the telescope and points it at the sky. A distant plane blazes across the sky, flickering and fading every second.

"New," I repeat in a quiet tone.

Peter lowers himself to glance through the lens. The moon takes center stage against the whispering clouds. The shroud of a shadow edges towards it, like an eye from the side. "I've been saying that instead of different, lately," he explains. "Different makes it seem like it's not normal. And I've gotten tired of pretending to be normal."

"I'm exactly the same," I mumble, like I can hardly breathe. And I can't—I have to remind myself to take in air, otherwise, I almost forget. "I've been convincing myself that I'm normal, that there's nothing wrong with me, but it's not like that. I haven't been for a long time."

Peter slides back onto the swing beside me. This time, we're a little closer. His leg brushes against my side, and I automatically turn in his direction. Glittering streaks of light swim in my vision.

"You are normal. Normalcy is—there shouldn't be any definition of it. The fact that it has one is practically a paradox," Peter says.

I chuckle lightly. Somehow, in some way—he finds a way to explain it. "You and your little facts. Seriously though, it helps."

The shadow moves over one-half of the moon's surface. I continue, "Did you tell Lexa you weren't coming?" When he nods, I whisper, (mostly to myself), "Because I am much more fun."

"Shut up," he says.

What I want to say is this: Make me. What comes out of my mouth is, "Come on, just admit it. I skipped soccer practice for you. You're skipping Astronomy Club. We're even, basically." I don't bother to mask the joking hint in my voice.

"Don't make it sound so simple, Éric."

My fingers buzz at that name. I absorb it for three seconds that stretches into four, and then five. "You know, Pierre," I say, testing the name out in my mouth, and it tastes like how I imagine his kiss would feel, "if this is honesty hour, I should tell you something. You have to promise that you won't make me feel like an idiot for it."

"Never." The first meteor arcs across the violet sky. It catapults like a slingshot and disappears like it was never there. A second one follows close behind it as if they're birds diving from above.

"It was me. I sent the candy gram," I admit, averting my eyes to the grass. "I wasn't sure how you'd react, and I felt like... I don't know. This is new for me. I would hate it if I messed this up."

A pause. Peter's arm hugs his chest. "New, in what sense?"

"Shit, I mean, I don't know. I guess I get crushes on both men and women—I've never acted on it, but that doesn't make it less real. I guess it's that, but also that you're... you understand me. I could tell you anything. I don't usually open up, but I want to. I don't fucking know how you do that. Why do you have to be so sweet?" I dig my heel into the dirt. Here I am, under the stars, ruining it. Here I am, in the night, waiting for a sign. Waiting like I always have. I know he won't say it first, but I don't care.

I'll say it first. I compose myself, tilting my head to the orange, fiery moon, and I continue, "I like you. Not like a friend. This is something else. I need to know if you feel like that, because I don't want to hold it in anymore."

"You like me?" he asks in response, repeating it like it's the chorus of a song. "Since when?"

"That's... I can't pick one time. I showed you my art—I drew you—and the ski trip... there are so many seconds, so many minutes, where I just wanted to tell you, but I didn't. You needed time, and I have a lot of that lately." I scratch my chin, and my hand is shaking.

He says again, although this time it's a statement, "You like me. I didn't think you were into guys."

I scoff a bit. "Yeah, well. Turns out I had a lot of shit I wasn't addressing before."

"Right, that's true."

"You didn't answer my question, you know," I point out softly. The sky above his head is a cauldron of comets, slinging along like arrows.

He lifts his hand to touch his glasses, but falters. "Did you ask me a—"

"Pierre, for god's sake. You can tell me the truth. Look, I get it. You've been through a lot, and this complicates it. I spent a lot of my time coming to terms with that. If you don't like me, then just forget about it, and we can go back to being President and Vice President of the Astronomy Club. Case closed."

He says, turning halfway towards me, "I am not going to forget. I just think that we need to take this—we need to do this slowly. Okay? I care about you too much to leave us both hurt."

"Slow is probably best," I admit. My veins are singing. "Shit, this is... ugh."

Peter places a hand on my shoulder. Electricity hits me all at once, and I face him. In the darkness, backed by the light of the stars and the red-ringed glow of the eclipse, Peter Delacroix makes me melt. "Take your time."

"Shut up, oh my god," I whisper. "Can you please just kiss me? I can't do this anymore."

Our eyes meet. His gaze catches on my lips. I feel like I'm about to burst, or maybe turn to flames. The sky is on fire, and so is my heart. It's beating like a drum; I can hear my pulse in my ears and feel it at the tips of my fingers.

"You..." His eyes soften. I grab hold of his hand. "Is it okay if I kiss you?"

"Yes." My eyes flutter shut. I move an inch closer to him, and he meets me halfway. His grasp on my hand tightens, and the thudding of his heart matches mine. It's almost in perfect harmony. I need to release this energy between us.

My hands travel nimbly up the sides of his arms. His breath is hot against my cheek. I don't dare to move, or even to speak. The thoughts bouncing around in my head fall silent, and he is the only thing on my mind. I trace his cheek and draw him closer to me, and my breath hitches.

I press my lips into his. His kiss is soft, and so very unsure, at first. I gasp out a swear under my breath, and I linger against his mouth.

"Evan," he breathes, and I breathe with him. Peter kisses me again, and his fingers let go of my hand to fasten against my waist. He tugs my body closer to him—ever closer, until no space remains between us. He holds me like it's feverish, and we're both afraid to let go. He smells like pine and fresh, heavenly aftershave, and he tastes sweet like candy, and I can't get enough of it.

He hesitates when he pulls away. My vision doubles when I look at him, when I stare into his eyes.

At the back of my mind, I think, I just kissed him. Am I okay with that?

But I already know. It's Peter Delacroix. Of fucking course, I'm okay with that.

"Shit," I say under my breath. "Thank you."

He chuckles. It's delicate, and I adore the way it sounds. "Why are you thanking me?"

"Because," I say, pursing my lips, "if you hadn't come here, this wouldn't have happened, and... maybe I should just stop talking."

He drapes an arm around me. I place my head against his chest. He cradles me into the hug, with his hands against my back. "Do you want me to do something about that?"

"Obviously, the solution to this problem is just to shut me up," I say as he touches his nose against mine. His lips graze my forehead, and he moves downward until our lips meet. Our movements sync up, and I feel his body angling towards the armrest of the porch swing. I back him into it, deepening the embrace.

Every time he touches me, I don't want him to stop. I've effectively shattered the barrier between us, and he's not going anywhere.

"Evan," he whispers as he holds me, "you still like me?"

"Yes, obviously."

He flashes me a smile, and just like that, the surroundings fade. "Just checking."

We sit there for a while, and neither of us speaks. We don't have to. Words are unnecessary.

When my eyes get heavy, and it's far past midnight, Peter packs the telescope back into his car. My eyes follow him on the road the entire length of the way as he drives down the road to his house.

I touch a finger to my lips. I don't quite know what the fuck just happened, but I desperately want it to happen again.